Four Lost Flowers
by Kelaiah
Summary: SEQUEL to Four Orphaned Flowers. A ferret searching for a mate. A squirrel searching for her mother. A hare searching for her destiny. And a mouse who is not searching, but running...
1. The Princess Story

**A/N:** They're baaaaaaack! Here it is, everyone, the long-awaited sequel to "Four Orphaned Flowers". I titled this one "Four Lost Flowers" for reasons that you'll find out eventually. Now just a little warning, unlike last time, I won't be updating almost everyday, so new chapters will come a little slower. But hopefully not too much slower, and hopefully I won't disappoint any of you.

Well, that's all! Take care, and God bless! :)

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* * *

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**Chapter 1**

"...and _that_ is the princess story!" finished Markas the Warrior to his adopted niece, Petunia.

The haremaid's brown eyes were wide with awe. "Whoa . . . so that's why Merola never wanted you to tell us! . . . She may have been right."

Markas laughed.

"And to think," Petunia went on. "Primrose and Pansy weren't here to hear all this! Pansy was always the most curious about what went on with you two."

"Just think of it like this," the old mouse said with a crafty grin. "You know something that they don't."

Petunia giggled. Then she leaned back with a sigh, gazing first into the fire they had built, and then out into the shadowy wilderness.

Markas watched her for a minute before saying, "You miss them, don't you?"

The haremaid sighed again. "Yes, I do. I miss them. Terribly."

"That's only natural," Uncle Markas comforted. "You gave up more than they ever did, a very big step for somebeast who's lived such a life as yours'."

". . . Uncle Markas?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think I can do it?"

"Do what?"

"Be a Long Patroller. I mean, it's like you said, I've not had the upbringing for such a life–"

"Now hold on. Who says you have to have led a life of war to be a Long Patroller? I've known plenty of creatures who were peace-loving beasts before they became the greatest warriors of all time! Why, some of the most peaceable creatures I've known have shown the toughest grit in time of need. And you, you saved me from a band of vermin who were about to cook me! And you were sorely out-numbered, with only one comrade at your side. And yet you won that battle! You saved me, kept your partner from dying, and didn't lose any one of your limbs! If I know any maiden who's born to be in the Long Patrol, it's you, Petunia! Now don't you let me hear you doubting yourself again, eh?"

"Thanks, Uncle," the haremaid smiled.

"You're welcome. Now, why don't we start to get some sleep? I'll take the first watch, and then I'll wake you for the second watch, alright? We'll start walking again in the morning."

* * *

The Roaming Whimsical Troupe consisted of twenty-five members.

First, there was their leader, Ferdinand the Terrific, though his troupe would've called him by a different name ("Ferdinand the Furious" was probably the politist one of all). He was a very temperamental hare, quick to anger or indignation, whichever suited him best. He was also a bit of a pompous creature, and it was for these very reasons why his troupe enjoyed antagonizing him so much. But let it not be said that they didn't respect him. They all knew of his great talent as an actor and of his accomplishments as an acrobat - despite having a few clumsy moments. Ferdinand was also a genius at putting on acts, or picking out beasts that had a talent for show-business, a trait that was passed down to him from his late mother, Madam Breeze.

"You there, moles!" the green-and-gold-clad hare called, strutting by a group of five moles, all clad in red-and-gold jester costumes. "Try standin' on some blinkin' different stacks of crates or something as you juggle. It'll make things more interesting: is anybeast going to fall?"

The Juggling Moleteam, which consisted of brothers and cousins, obeyed the orders, eager for a challenge to their skill.

"And you there, clown-mice! Don't be usin' any more pies; they're all we've got on this trip–! _Oh, very funny!"_ the hare yelled as one of the clowns splattered his face with one of the pies. Then Ferdinand's face became a smile as he began licking the cream, berries, and crust off his face. "Actually, thanks old thing, wot wot!"

The Miceclowns were made up a group of six mice, divided evenly concerning gender. All were either plump or wiry, but all had ways of screwing up their faces comically or pulling off feats that left their audience dying of laughter.

"Mm! And you there, Spiketipp, whacha doin'?" Ferdinand demanded, scooping more pie into his mouth. "Is that more plays you're writing or that just doodle-duddling?"

"Actually, it's neither," the hedgehog replied with dignity. "I am coming up with some new tricks for my magic act."

"There, that's the spirit!" Ferdinand cried, clapping Spiketipp on the back – and ended up hopping about the camp, holding his paw, squealing in pain.

"YEEEOOOOWWWWCCCHHHH! Ooh! Aah! Ouch! Ooh! Ah! Ouch! Yowch, a bally-ouch!"

The entire encampment doubled up with laughter.

"Stop chortling and get me some bandages for me poor flippin' paw, you confounded idiots!" Ferdinand roared, stilling jumping around in agony.

"We would if you'd stop hopping around and hold still!" Vanna shouted, tears of mirth streaming down her face. "Here, Rogak, grab him!"

Rogak, a large, burly otter who served as the troupe's strongbeast, leapt on Ferdinand, hoisting him up in the air and holding him still.

"Thank you!" Vanna said, taking hold of the hare's paw and squeezing the offending spine out.

"OOOOWWWWW! Have a care, miss!" whined Ferdinand. "I can't afford to be maimed for the rest of my life!"

"Oh, please," Vanna scoffed, putting some remedy on the wound. She then wrapped up the paw in clean white bandages. "There! Good as new! Now can we please stop all this caterwauling about, please?"

"As soon as this waterdog releases me!" growled Ferdinand, glaring over his shoulder at Rogak.

The otter winked roguishly. "As soon as yon pretty squirrelmaid gives the orders to."

Ferdinand scowled. Vanna giggled. "Alright, Rogak, you can put him down now."

Rogak complied, and Ferdinand walked, off, muttering darkly under his breath.

Suddenly another squirrelmaid came up, only this one was much younger than Vanna, and colored a very bright red. "Goodness, I've never seen Ferdinand yell _that_ loud!"

"You haven't heard anything yet, Pansy!" Vanna replied with a laugh. She then put her arm around the younger squirrelmaid's shoulder and led her back over to where the other Dancing Squirrels were stretching.

The Dancing Squirrels consisted of eight (including Vanna and Pansy) beautiful squirrelmaidens, all of whom could dance like a pink blossom floating on a gentle spring wind. Vanna was their lead dancer, but Pansy was their best one. She had been given private lessons from Madam Breeze herself for a season before the old hare-lady passed away. Pansy now received instruction from Ferdinand, who alone knew all of his mother's dancing secrets.

Sitting near the squirrel group was a large, old badger, who shook her head and sighed. "I do wonder sometimes if I made the right choice in coming along with this troupe. All this walking and rehearsing and yelling . . . but then I realize that if I weren't here, who'd be keeping an eye on Primrose and Pansy?"

"Oh, does that mean you don't think we're very suitable parent figures, Merola?" Vanna inquired with a smile as she went to go sit down with her lover, a handsome, but shy, male squirrel named Acorn.

"You know what I mean," the old badger explained. "You're all very good and kind creatures, but with youngbeasts, they can pick up on any bad habit, and, well, you have to admit, I certainly don't want any maiden I raised to start getting a temper like Ferdinand's."

"You've got me there," smiled Vanna. Actually, the squirrelmaid was glad that the old badger had decided to come along with the troupe, because Merola managed to keep not only her charges under control, but also Ferdinand.

The troupe had to put up with Ferdinand just as much as he had to put up with them, but it had been Madam Breeze who kept anything from boiling over. But with the old hare-lady gone, many of the troupe became worried that Ferdinand's temper might get the better of him, but that didn't seem to be happening any time soon with Merola to keep a firm paw over things.

"Oh dear, it's getting late," the old badgermum said. "Pansy, I think it's time you went off to bed."

"Ooh, but I want to stay up!" whined Pansy, even though she knew that she was fighting a lost battle.

"I don't care if you want to stay up, you need your rest for the morrow! How do you expect to dance if you're tired in the mornings?"

Things like that always got Pansy to be agreeable. She muttered a few "good nights" to the other squirrels and Merola before climbing into the squirrels' sleeping cart.

Merola leaned back with a sigh. "Oh, dear. If I'd have known this was how I was going to be spending my winter seasons . . . but at least I'm helping my maidens achieve their dreams."

"You certainly are," a voice said as a beautiful ferretmaid came in from the shadows. "You're also doing a good job of making it seem like home to us, what with you insisting that we still eat with proper table manners and the like."

"I'll not be having any maiden I've raised lose all her good manners while out in the wilderness!" the old badger replied, though she smiled fondly at the ferret, Primrose.

Merola had always been secretly proud of Primrose's beauty. Never before had the badgermum seen any creature with such well-formed, even, delicate features. The ferret's fur was like the cream topping off a pie, and her eyes were deep brown and glittering. Not only that, but out of all her sisters, Primrose had been the best at ladylike behavior, a feat that neither Petunia nor Pansy could master. But Merola wouldn't go on about it, not wanting Primrose to become vain.

"Well, in any case," the old badger went on, "it's getting late, so you'd better be getting to bed."

"Alright," Primrose sighed. "Good-night, Merola. Good-night Vanna. Good-night everybeast!"

After climbing into the cart where Pansy was slumbering, Primrose pulled out some blankets and a pillow, placing them next to her adoptive sister. As she got under the covers, though, the ferretmaid wondered what her other adoptive sister, Petunia, was doing at this very moment.

* * *

Petunia was awoken by a firm paw pressing against her mouth.

The haremaid's eyes snapped open – only to see that it was only Uncle Markas. He was probably done with his watch. Funny. It didn't like he'd been on it for long. . . .

"Shh," the old mouse whispered, and Petunia suddenly became aware that he was lying down beside her.

"Don't make a noise. We're being surrounded. Just keep your sword close and get ready to fight."


	2. The Morning After

**Chapter 2**

There were several carts in The Roaming Whimsical Troupe, all with the purpose of bearing the members along with the tents, props, and other provisions needed for a group of traveling beasts. They were built to accommodate both its passengers and their gear, and right now, under the night sky, they were grouped together in a circle.

Most of the Troupe were snuggled inside the carts, dozing away, but there were some who were still awake, keeping watch for any night-time attackers.

Primrose couldn't sleep that night. For some reason she felt restless, and rather lonesome among the sleeping squirrelmaids. Still lying down, the ferret tilted her head to look out the cart's doorway, and saw a huddled figure silhouetted against the dying bonfire.

Crawling out of her blankets, Primrose stuck her head out and saw that the huddled figure was Rogak.

"Rogak?" she whispered.

The otter gave a slight start and turned around. "What are you still doing up, Primrose?" he inquired.

"Couldn't sleep," the ferret answered, laying her chin down on her paws. "How about you?"

"Well," Rogak replied, grinning a little. "It is my turn to be the look-out, hence why _I'm_ still up."

Primrose half-stifled a giggle. "Sorry. Maybe we can talk for a bit, though? I'm feeling pretty lonely in here."

"Alright, but get a blanket around ye. Merola'll have my hide if she knows I let you stay up late."

Primrose retrieved one of her blankets and, wrapping it around her shoulders, went and sat by the large otter. "So? Have you seen anything?"

"Not much. No suspicious activity, no strange noises. Which is good, meaning we won't have to deal with any vermin attacks."

Primrose felt an involuntary shudder pass through her. She suddenly prayed very much that nothing like that would happen.

* * *

Petunia was certain she couldn't fake being asleep. The vermin would see right through her – or rather, they'd hear right through her. Her heartbeat was pounding mercilessly against her rib-cage, making it very hard for the haremaid to hear any approaching footpaws.

Uncle Markas was still laying beside her, one paw holding onto his sword while his other held hers'. Petunia was keeping her eyes closed, as he commanded, so she couldn't look into the old mouse's eyes for comfort during this very scarey moment.

Markas actually had his eyes closed as well, but his ears were keenly alert. Judging from the sound of light pawsteps, the attackers were probably small, and numerous. He and Petunia would have to be very fast, and the old mouse hoped that his niece would be able to keep her head straight during the next few minutes.

The footsteps were coming closer . . . and closer . . . and closer. . . .

__

"Yaaaaaaaaahhhh!!"

Petunia, and the vermin, gave a start as Markas suddenly leapt to his feet and swung his blade at the rat standing over the haremaid. The vermin fell dead to the ground, and the rest charged.

Her heart still pounding within her burning chest, Petunia jumped up as well, tearing her own sword from its sheath and warding off any foes coming towards her. Though she had been in a skirmish before, the haremaid was no less terrified of what was going on or what could happen. And yet she found herself moving without really thinking about it. Her arms and legs seemed to have taken on a life of their own, remembering all the right moves to block and attack.

Markas hurled himself behind her so that they were fighting back-to-back. Petunia recalled that that was a lesson Dakar always taught her: _Make certain that your foes can't get you from behind; force them to meet your sword head-on. _

The rats, all armed with rusty knives and spikes, either jumped forward or back, trying to rid their intended prey of their weapons. They were all very surprised; at first it looked as though they wouldn't be getting any trouble. After all, their prey had been an oldbeast and a young maiden. The rats hadn't even noticed the blades both hare and mouse had kept hidden beneath them as they slept.

Markas surprised the rats further (and even Petunia) by giving a wild cry that sounded like he was enjoying himself._"Yeeeoooowwwww!! _Let's make short work of this, Petunia! Noonvaaaalllleeee!"

The haremaid found herself answering her uncle's war-cry with her own:_ "Euuuulllllaaaallllia!" _

* * *

Primrose leaned her head against Rogak's shoulder and sighed. The big, kindly otter smiled down at her.

"You miss your sister, eh?"

"Yes, I do. I suppose this sounds a bit mean, but I always felt closer to Petunia than do Pansy. But I suppose that's just because she and I are closer in age, and spent more time together growing up."

"I can see what you mean," Rogak sympathized. "Pansy always seemed so much more independent. Plus there's the fact that Petunia's leading a life that demands a lot of fighting."

Primrose bit her lip. The otter suddenly felt he could've kicked himself.

"Er, listen, I'm sure she's safe. She's got your Uncle Markas with her, doesn't she? And she'll have a whole regiment of hares surrounding her once she reaches Salamandastron. I'll bet Petunia's safe as berries in a pie right now!"

* * *

Petunia slashed and stabbed, blood spilling all over her blade, her arms beginning to ache with exhaustion. Even Uncle Markas was beginning to huff and puff a little.

Fortunately, there were not many rats left, only five, and none of them looked very big. They were the cowards of their gang, preferring to stay behind and let the others do the fighting.

Markas and Petunia stood before them, surrounded by the rats' fallen comrades.

"Well, what're you all going to do?" wheezed the old mouse, his sword still at the ready. "I'm not getting any younger, y'know."

One of the rats, who was bolder than the others, said, "They're gettin' tired, mates! We c'n take 'em! Charge!"

And with that, the rat dove at Markas–

–only to be cut down.

The remaining vermin watched, even more unsure of what to do. True, Markas and Petunia did look pretty tired, but they kept on chopping down any rat that went near them. They could've charged, but that would only leave two of them each to fight either the mouse or hare.

"If y'don't fancy death," Markas breathed. "Then I suggest you take off. And don't try bothering us again, or else you'll end up like all your friends."

The rats finally decided it was hopeless and took off, never wanting to see either woodlander again.

Petunia gave a long gasp and placed both paws on her knees. She felt shaky all over . . . and yet very relieved! They were alive! They weren't harmed, she had prevailed in her second skirmish, and this time she hadn't vomited!

Suddenly a groan behind her caused Petunia to whip around. Uncle Markas sank rather heavily to the ground, his paw holding his shoulder. The haremaid saw that there was blood seeping its way past his fingers.

* * *

"Are you sure she'd be safe?" Primrose asked Rogak.

"Certainly! I mean, Dakar expressed a lot of confidence in her, and he's a seasoned warrior, isn't he? And Markas, he's an even more seasoned warrior! I'd hate to be the vermin that tried to mess with those two!"

Primrose blew out her nose and smiled. "Thanks, Rogak."

"No problem," the otter replied, putting his arm around her.

* * *

"Don't try to talk," Petunia ordered as she set about for some herbs and bandages in her pack. "Just breathe. Save your strength. Come on, breathe."

Somewhat surprisingly, Markas made no fight, but actually allowed his niece to fuss over him. She cleansed his wound and applied some poultice before wrapping it up in some clean rags. The haremaid then went on to check her uncle for any more wounds, wiping blood from him and from his blade, remembering that Dakar told her a warrior must always clean their sword.

As soon as she was finished, Markas was breathing much easier, and smiling proudly. "Thank you, Petunia. But don't forget to check yourself."

"I'm fine–"

"Balderdash. We've just been in a fight. It'll do you no good to let any wounds get infected. Come on now, be sensible, just like how you were just now."

And so, Petunia checked herself for any injuries, and to her surprise found many cuts on her arms and legs. They weren't deep, but as soon as she took notice of them, the haremaid suddenly felt pain from them. It was strange how often an unnoticed wound didn't hurt at all.

Markas watched his niece as she cleaned herself, applying healing herbs and bandages. He was certainly proud of her; this was his first time seeing her in action. Well, technically it was the second time, but that other time didn't really count. He'd been barely conscious then, and she had only looked like a blur.

It had happened not very long ago, when the old warrior finally returned to Noonvale. But he had only just made it to the border when he had been set upon by a group of rats and weasels. They demanded to know where his treasure was, something which greatly annoyed Markas, as he possessed no such thing.

He told them just that, but it was pointless to do so, because, like many incompetent vermin, they were convinced he was a prince or some lordly beast. They even made fun of Markas's weight, suggesting that he got to have great feasts every day. The old warrior hadn't had a decent meal since the otter's island, or a good sleep for that matter.

Markas warned the vermin to shove off, only to have one of them slam his spear-butt into the old mouse's belly. Moments afterwards they had disarmed him, wacked him upside the head, and tied him up. Markas was still a bit in shock at how quickly the vermin had overpowered him. It could only show that he was getting older, and that didn't suit him at all after a lifetime as a warrior. Even now he was more out of breath than usual, causing Markas to be even more glad to have Petunia by his side.

"No matter how many times I've been in a fight," the haremaid was saying as she wrapped a cloth around her leg. "It's still very scary."

"You think I wasn't scared, young missy?" the old mouse grinned. "I felt like a bowl full of jelly, just like how I always do before a battle! There's nothing wrong with being a little scared, Petunia. Don't ever forget that."

The old mouse had also been scared that other night, though he knew it was good never to show fear in front of your enemies. That night, however, he had been scared not because he was probably going to die, but because he was so close, so close to getting back to Noonvale. Back to all his nieces. And he could've died just outside their cottage before getting to see them all again. And after a whole lifetime of wars and daring rescues, Markas didn't think that being easily beaten and then devoured by a rabble of vermin was the sort of death he deserved.

Markas remembered lying on the ground, bound and gagged, watching as the rats and weasels went about creating a bonfire for their intended meal. The old mouse was barely conscious from the blow to the head he had received. He recalled the vermin arguing over which of them was going to get the portion of his belly, when two loud war-cries ripped through the night air, followed by two figures who threw themselves at the vermin. Markas just lost conscious when the vermin leader came running towards him, but not before he saw a blurry shape whose war-cry had a feminine sound to it.

Afterwards the old mousewarrior found out that the blur could have only been Petunia. His little niece had saved him that night, and never before had Markas felt any better about taking those baby orphans in.

Petunia smiled at the old warrior. "Thanks, Uncle."

* * *

After awhile, Rogak realized that Primrose had nodded off. Carefully, the big otter slipped his arms around her so that he could carry her back into the cart and lay her back down next to her sister. He didn't want Merola to know he'd let Primrose stay up late.


	3. The Rehearsal

**Chapter 3**

Primrose was among the late-risers the next morning.

"You missed a glorious sunrise, Sis!" Pansy chirped once the ferret made an appearance. "It was all pink and golden, and the trees were blank against it. It was beautiful!"

"Every sunrise is beautiful, Pansy," Primrose muttered, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Somebeast's in a bad mood today," the squirrelmaid grinned.

"Hush, you two," Merola ordered, coming over with a bowl or porridge. "It's way too early for arguments. Here, Primrose, have some breakfast."

The ferretmaid accepted the bowl while Pansy chatted on.

"Well, now that you're up, I was hoping we could practice some dancing or maybe a little bit of acting if you like before we head out."

"I guess," Primrose replied. "When are we moving out, Merola?"

"I'm not sure, yet," the old badger replied. "First we'll have to get fed and bathed; we can't start the day without either of those!"

(Both Primrose and Pansy exchanged a look; while neither would've skipped breakfast, they certainly did wonder what it would be like to start the day without a bath.)

"Are you joking?" said Vanna, who had just walked over. _"I _only bathe three times a week and I _never_ eat breakfast!"

The two maidens were stunned: a beast who never ate in the mornings?!

Merola, however, seemed more scandalized by the squirrel's bathing rules. "Three baths a _week? _My dear, are you crazy? Don't tell me the entire troupe lives like that!"

Vanna shrugged, sitting down next to Primrose. "Not everybeast. Rogak pretty much bathes every day, though that's because he's always searching for some stream to swim in. And Spiketipp believes in keeping his spines nice and shiny. As for Ferdinand, his mother taught him to bathe regularly too, so I don't think you'll have to worry about these two maids getting any bad influence."

"But you _never_ eat breakfast?" Pansy asked, who had never heard of such a thing.

"Mostly it's just The Dancing Squirrels who skip out on breakfast, though some of them do eat something once in a blue moon. I'm just not hungry in the mornings."

Merola snorted. She was a firm believer in starting off the day with a good meal, whether the eater was hungry or not.

"But that doesn't mean I don't eat all," Vanna explained, smiling. "I _have_ to eat! I have to keep my strength up for dancing."

"Speaking of dancing," Pansy said, turning to Primrose. "Are you done eating yet? 'Cause I want to get practicing soon before we have to move out."

"Sure, I'm done," the ferretmaid said, setting down her bowl.

"Not before you wash your bowl and spoon!" said Merola, barring the way.

Knowing it was better to simply follow the order and not argue, Primrose picked up the items and went down to a nearby stream with Pansy following. Once there, they saw Rogak lolling about in the water, juggling a few pebbles.

"Morning," Primrose called to him as she stooped down to rinse her bowl.

The otter lifted his head and smiled when he saw the maidens. "Morning! Had a good sleep, then?"

"Not really," the ferret smiled as her sister turned cartwheels in the background. "But thanks for the talk last night. I really appreciate it."

"Ah, think nothing of it! Things can get awfully scary at night, and it's easy to start thinking horrible things during that time."

"It wasn't so hard back at Noonvale," Primrose commented, dipping her spoon into the water.

"Well, you're away from home and . . . well, I don't think we need to go back into that again, eh?"

"Primrose, are you done yet?" whined Pansy, who had grown tired of cartwheels. "Come on! You said you'd help me with my dance moves!"

"I'm coming," the ferretmaid answered. Standing up, she bade Rogak good-bye and headed off with her sister.

"Have a good time!" the otter called after them. He then went back to lying on his back in the water and juggling some pebbles – but ended up throwing one of them so that it landed on his nose.

_"Yeowch!"_

* * *

Petunia awoke before Markas did. The haremaid supposed that last night had really tired him out. Looking at him, lying there and sleeping away, she realized just how old he really looked. Judging from how old Lily (Markas's blood-niece) was, being in her thirties, and knowing that Markas was older than Lily's father, Petunia judged him to be at least in his sixties. Except Lily had said he was already relatively old when she came to live with him, so he was probably in his seventies.

Getting up, the haremaid set about making a new fire to cook some breakfast with. Her stomach grumbled; it had been awhile since she had a decent meal: the wedding feast of Lily and Dakar. As there was only two of them on their journey, they could only carry so many things, so therefore had to eat sparingly. Petunia knew how to forage a little; it had been a lifetime of reading and some helpful lessons from Dakar to know what berries and mushrooms were edible and which ones were poisonous. Plus, Markas also knew quite a bit about such things, so they were able to get a nice mouthful every day.

The haremaid reached into her pack and extracted some mushrooms and a few berries. After a bit more rummaging, she came up with some cooking oil and the small pan they had taken from Noonvale. She'd fry up the mushrooms and maybe make a sauce from the berries.

By the time Markas awoke, Petunia was carefully arranging the meager meal onto one of the small, cracked plates that had also been taken from Noovale.

"Morning," the haremaid said perkily. She set the plate down in front of her uncle. "Here, have some breakfast."

Markas heaved a deep sigh of thanks. "Ah, but that smells good. Travel is always so much nicer when you have a pretty maid to wait on you."

"Oh, stop it," Petunia said somewhat testily. "I'm not at all pretty."

"What?" cried Markas indignantly. "No niece of mine is ugly, I can tell you that, missy!"

"Oh, Uncle, you've seen Primrose and Pansy. How can you say that I'm pretty next to them?"

The old mouse shrugged, taking a bite out of one of the mushrooms. "Sure I've seen them. And true, you're not the beauty that they are, but you're more interesting to look at, I think."

This was a surprising bit of information. Petunia had never thought of herself as interesting. She was plain and an ordinary brown, how could _that_ be interesting?

"Really?" she asked. "I always thought it was Primrose and Pansy who were the interesting ones."

"Primrose is the pretty one," Markas said patiently. "Pansy is the exotic one. _You're_ the interesting one. There's something pleasantly different about your looks that's rather soothing, I think. Plus you have a glamorous nose, for one thing."

Petunia giggled and placed her paw over her nose, suddenly wishing for a mirror.

"Well," the old mouse said, taking out a kerchief and wiping his now-empty plate. "Let's get a move-on. We still have a long way to go, y'know."

* * *

_"Annnnddddd nnnoooooowwwww,"_ Ferdinand the Terrific shouted to his pretend audience. "I give you a feat so wonderful, so fantastical, so compelling that you'll want to live to tell your grandchildren about this:

"I present to yoooooou . . . Rogak the Mighty!"

The big, handsome otter came out, flexing his muscles and smiling roguishly at the pretend audience.

"Here before you is an otter so strong, he can lift an entire group of moles as they juggle on a table! Watch!"

And with that, The Juggling Moleteam scurried out, climbing up onto a table that had only been recently built. But it was sturdy, and held all five of them just right. Four of them stood at each of the corners while the fifth mole stood at the center, and they all began to juggle with brightly-colored balls and apples and clubs.

Rogak crouched under the table, bracing and tensing himself, until finally he placed his paws and shoulders up against the table while stretching his legs into a standing position. The otter lifted the table with the five juggling moles high above his head. The moles continued to juggle without dropping a single one of their props.

The rest of The Roaming Whimsical Troupe went wild with applause. Pansy whistled.

"Ah, but that's not all, my good beasts!" Ferdinand proclaimed. "Please make way for The Dancing Squirrels!"

And with that, the eight squirrelmaids came prancing out, Pansy in the led, all waving long gauzy scarfs about. They all danced beautifully, but none so gracefully as Pansy.

Then the four moles who stood on the corners of the table jumped off, landing nimbly on the ground. As soon as they regained their footing, however, they continued on with their juggling, tossing their props not only to their fellows on the ground, but also to their fifth comrade still on the table.

Not only that, but four squirrelmaids made a few incredible leaps and bounds and landed on each of the corners of the table, taking the places of the moles. They continued to dance and wave their scarves about. Yet despite this, the fifth mole was not left out of the juggling. The mole's skills were so precise that they did not fail to miss him or let their props be intercepted by the scarves.

Meanwhile Pansy and the other squirrelmaids continued to dance on the ground. Pansy outshone the others, putting her body into more curves and spins than any of the others.

It was all so mesmerizing that nobeast noticed how Rogak began to look a little red in the face. The otter could lift heavy objects easily, but still, it was tiresome to hold them above his head for a long period of time. Nevertheless, Rogak figured he could hold out for a bit longer . . . until finally:

"Come on! Come on, you lot! This thing is getting heavy!"

Ferdinand took some enjoyment in the otter's discomfort, as Rogak was forever antagonizing him. Hah, take that, insolent otter.

"Not so fast!" the hare called out. "We have one last detail to this act!"

And with that, Ferdinand bounded forward and tickled Rogak's belly: the otter's biggest weakness.

"AUGH! Ah, no, heehee, stop! Please! Heehee! Augh, heeheehee! Heehee! Heeheeheehee! Stoppit! No, no, heeheehee! I'm gonna drop the table, heeheehee!"

The other beasts had been laughing at the spectacle, but once they heard Rogak's last few words, the mole and the four squirrelmaids jumped off, and they all dove for cover. Ferdinand also tried to back away at the last minute, but the otter had already let go of the table, and–THUNK!

* * *

"A ticklish tummy? _That's_ your biggest weakness?" giggled Primrose.

"Don't you be gettin' any ideas, missy," Rogak warned, crossing his big arms protectively over his stomach.

"Oh, I think Ferdinand's waking up now," said Vanna, peering into the unconscious hare's face.

The first words to come out of Ferdinand's mouth were a jumble of nonsense, and at first the others feared he may have lost his mind . . . but then after he spit out a tooth, he said:

"Confounded blinkin' waterdog! Now look what y'did! Rid me of one of my fine eating molars! I'll never chew the same way again!"

"Now Ferdinand," said Primrose, trying not to giggle at the sight of the hare's head covered in a turban-like bandage. "That's not a nice thing to say. And besides, it's your own fault. You were the one who had to act so childish and get in the way of a falling table. Honestly!"

"She's absolutely right!" Merola put in before Ferdinand could make an angry retort. "Now you apologize to Master Rogak, or you'll be feeling the back of my paw!"

The old badgermum rarely made a threat she didn't plan to carry out. That was why Ferdinand didn't make much of a fuss about apologizing to Rogak.

"Not at all, not at all," the big otter grinned. "It's always a pleasure whenever you get hurt."

Ferdinand was furious, but Merola told him to lie down and not stress himself out. She did, however, turn on Rogak.

"That's a terrible thing to say to anybeast! I won't have this kind of behavior tolerated at all! Now you apologize to Master Ferdinand right now!"

Rogak gaped while the hare snickered.

* * *

"Uncle," Petunia said after awhile of walking in silence.

"Yes?"

"Tell me more about the tales you've had with the Long Patrollers."

"Ooh, but I've told you them several times already!"

"That doesn't mean they're any less exciting!"

"For me they are."

"Oh, come on, Uncle! _Pleeeeeaaaaazzzze?"_

"Oh, alright! If it'll make you happy!"

"Thank you, Uncle!"

"Now, what adventure shall I tell you about? The one when I was still young and met Brigadier Starbob Crumworthy, or when I was a bit older and had some dealings with a feisty young hare by the name of Lynum?"

"Oh, I suppose I'd like to hear about Crumworthy. He's more to do with the Long Patrol, isn't he?"

"Yes, that's because Lynum never did become a Long Patroller – or at least to my knowledge he didn't. Went off to be a traveling warrior like me."

"Yes, yes, that's all very nice, but you're supposed to be talking about Crumworthy!"

"Alright, fine! Now, then. Where shall I start?"

"How about from the beginning, when you met him?"

". . . well, I suppose that's as good a place to start as any other," laughed Markas. "I met him while I was wandering along the western shores, not going anywhere in particular. Then finally, after I had settled down for the night, a whole troop of Long Patrol hares came upon me, led by none other than Brigadier Starbob Crumworthy himself. They had gotten news from one of their Runners that some villages up north were being harassed by some seavermin, and so were traveling there to help out.

"While on the way, they had seen my bonfire in the night, and sent one of the scouts ahead to see who it was. After realizing it was only a mouse, they all came and told me that I'd better head away to avoid any danger. But the news of an upcoming skirmish appealed to me, so I insisted that I come along as well. Fortunately, after showing them I knew how to use a sword, Brigadier decided that they could use some extra help, and so allowed me to march along with them.

"We ended up at the place where the vermin were staying, and by the fur, was there a fight! If there's anything as wonderful as seeing a hare fight, let alone a whole group of 'em, I'd like to see it!"

Petunia took note that Markas had explained the way how a Long Patrol hare fought just how Dakar had described it. Both could only say that it was a near-phenomenal thing to see. It only served to make her want to see a real Long Patrol hare even more . . . and that she would one day fight like one.


	4. The Life of a Traveller

**Chapter 4**

It had been a season since the summer of Lily and Dakar's wedding, when Primrose, Pansy, and Petunia had set out to find their way in the world.

For Primrose and Pansy, their road had been a cheery, if occasionally frustrating, one. Mostly every day was spent walking, eating, practicing their talents or rehearsing with the other Troupe members. It was great fun, though it could be tiring. Ferdinand was a bit of a bore with the way he commanded everybeast during rehearsals; Merola refused to allow them to pass one day without a bath or teaching them good manners; and even the rest of the Troupe would lose their tempers and quarrel a bit with the two maidens; even among themselves Primrose and Pansy would quarrel. And they wouldn't have Petunia to part them like how they did in Noonvale.

But all in all, whenever the ferret and squirrel would lay down for the night, they would think to themselves, _This is the life. I wouldn't have it any other way._

* * *

It was similar for Petunia. She enjoyed greater liberty with only Markas as her companion. The old mouse didn't mind if she used improper grammar once in awhile or went without bathing for a couple of days. Nor was the haremaid told off every time she dirtied or tore her tunic. Plus Uncle Markas proved to be great company, as he was full of many stories and old marching songs.

And not only that, but the old warrior enjoyed teaching her useful things like how to make a fire, and where to go and what to do during a storm. They even created some nice memories for themselves, such as when Petunia climbed up a wild apple tree, only to fall comically out. After making certain that she wasn't hurt, Markas and Petunia had a good laugh over her incident.

But the haremaid's journey, like her sisters', also had its drawbacks. Frequently Petunia would worry about Markas's health. He was old, and not in very good shape. True, he was able to keep up with her, but how long could he hold up? Many nights of sleeping out in the open and just as many days of scraping for food just didn't seem to be what an oldbeast should be doing. And the last thing Petunia wanted was for her uncle to perish while still on the journey; she didn't want to be alone if ever she had to bury him, nor would she want to continue on alone.

Not only that, but there was more than one time they were set upon by attackers. There was that first time with the rats. The second time was when they were being followed by a small band of foxes. Markas had instructed Petunia to not look over her shoulder, and to innocently gather flowers.

"You know, act like a simpleton," had been his exact words to her.

Suddenly, he left her, saying loudly that he was going to go find some firewood. And with that, he was gone. Petunia didn't dare look over her shoulder, and tried to act like a simpleton – except she had never been good at acting, plus the foxes were behind her. How could she make them believe she was a simpleton if they only had a back-view of her?

Nevertheless, the haremaid tried her best, and made certain to pick flowers in what she thought was an "innocent" way. Then she became aware of footpaws coming towards her. Petunia suddenly became fraught with terror and whirled around, pulling her sword out from beneath her cloak.

The foxes, who had been sneaking up on her, backed up a few steps. But they only leered as she told them to pack off, and even advanced. The haremaid, though still scared, suddenly felt a rush of anger towards them. She charged, swinging and stabbing. The foxes were taken aback by her aggression, and by her ability to block all their own attacks.

It was not long before Uncle Markas had come to join the fray. He told her later that he had gone off to lure some of the foxes away to lessen their numbers. The old mouse hid in a bush and took off the ones that had followed him, and then hurried back to help his niece.

Only three foxes survived the skirmish, and they all ran for the hills. Markas had clapped Petunia on the back afterwards, saying that the Long Patrol was going to get a good soldier very soon.

There was a smaller incident with four weasels who tried to charge them for crossing a bridge over a river. Markas challenged them to a fight, but Petunia intervened, saying that she didn't want anybeast to get hurt anymore. In truth, she was more worried for her uncle than the weasels; she had noticed how worn out Markas got after a fight.

The haremaid proposed a battle of wits against the weasels, which they accepted after muttering amongst themselves.

"Alright then," Petunia said, folding her arms as she gazed at the four un-scrubbed verminous faces leering back at her. "If I were to get two apples, two pears, two apricots, and four hazelnuts, and slice them all up into four pieces, how would I be able to divide them all up between the four of you?"

The weasels were a bit taken aback at such a question. They hadn't had time to count all the items she listed, nor was math their forte.

"Er, er, lessee, um, four apple-cots, and–"

"She didn' say 'apple-cots' yew idjit! She said four apricots!"

"No she didn't! It was the acorn-nuts that were four!"

"Acorns? She never said anythin' about acorns, they was hazelnuts!"

"Says you!"

"Tha's right, says me! I'm the one who's in charge around 'ere!"

"Is that so?"

And with that, the four weasels fell on each other, biting and kicking, scratching and punching, raising dust around themselves as Petunia and Markas walked right past them, over the bridge, to the other side of the river.

"Well, what do you know," grinned the old mousewarrior later. "Not only is my little flower brave and strong, but she's smart, too!"

Petunia blushed at the praise.

* * *

During the season of The Roaming Whimsical Troupe's travels, many things had happened. More than once some of the carts got stuck in the mud after a rainstorm, but fortunately they had Rogak and Merola to help pull them back out. Food would sometimes become scarce, and so would tempers. But in the end, after finding a place to perform and eat, apologies would be passed around along with the ale.

And they did stop at many places: inns, farms, and the occasional squirrel- or otter-tribe. Merola rather detested the inns, as it would be filled with some drunken beasts that she did not want to expose her charges to. Primrose and Pansy thought it was fun, though they agreed that the drunkards were a less than savory bunch. But they had all their friends around to protect them, so why worry?

The farms weren't as exciting, as there were much smaller crowds and not quite as much to eat. But the Troupe enjoyed performing for them just as well. As for the squirrel-tribes they came across, Pansy enjoyed playing with the other young squirrels, scurrying up and down the trees and practicing name-calling – a game that was swiftly extinguished by Merola. The male squirrels of the tribe also enjoyed The Dancing Squirrels, but the same could not be said for the females of said tribe.

When the Troupe would come across an otter-tribe, it was Rogak who got all the attention. Practically every ottermaid in the tribe would latch themselves onto either of his arms, or legs, or even his rudder. Pansy teased Primrose about this, saying that the ferret was losing her "lover" (Primrose made certain to spike her sister's drink with some hotroot soup). And when the Troupe would announce their departure, the ottermaids would all weep and beg their fathers to talk Rogak into staying, or at least allow them to go along with the Troupe so they could be near the handsome otter. The male otters of the tribe would, naturally, be frustrated and infuriated by all of this, and so would beg the Troupe to leave speedily and never come back.

Usually after they left an otter-tribe, the entire Troupe would heckle poor Rogak about his predicament.

"Ooh, Mister Rogak!" Spiketipp pretended to wail, imitating one of the ottermaids. "Don't leave us, please! You've got to marry all of us!"

"Oh, you're so handsome, Mister Rogak!" teased Vanna. "You must stay with us for all eternity!"

"Shut up, all of you!" roared Rogak, very red in the face.

"Oh, come now, stop it!" Merola snapped to the others. "I quite agree with Rogak, we heard enough of that talk from the actual ottermaids, thank you very much. I don't want to hear any of you imitating them trying to convince him to stay."

"Yes, thank you, Merola," said a relieved Rogak.

"Besides," the badger continued, a crafty grin forming about her face. "I believe some of them suggested coming along with us, so start imitating them doing that."

Primrose and Pansy laughed, shocked to hear Merola make a joke. Rogak could only throw his paws up in the air.

* * *

Then there came a time, after passing over a river that Ferdinand told them was called "River Moss", when places to rest wouldn't be found. The Troupe remained on the dirt road heading south, for Ferdinand recalled that if they did, they would arrive at a place called Redwall Abbey.

"I've only heard of it," said Pansy. "Have you ever been there, Ferdy?"

"Once, when I was a leveret," the hare replied. "My mother took me there for a summer feast. Ah, but it was a grand occasion. I still remember. The only other feasts that came close are the ones that we had in Noonvale." Ferdinand sighed dreamily. "Ah, but for those days. . . ."

For the next few days, most of the talk that passed between the members of The Roaming Whimsical Troupe were all the tales they had heard of the legendary red-stone building. As it turned out, only Ferdinand had made a visit at the abbey, but was too young to really remember anything that didn't have to do with food.

"But don't any of you worry!" the hare assured them all. "Once we make it, you won't have to come to me. You can just rack your own memories for stories about Redwall!"

It was then that Primrose and Pansy realized that Ferdinand had never seemed so cheerful about anything before he started talking about Redwall.


	5. The Abbey

**Chapter 5**

Abbot Grove dozed in his armchair. It had been a grand summer only to be followed by a glorious autumn. There had been much harvest, and anything around the abbey building or walls that needed to be fixed, they had been fixed. The Dibbuns were running the Brothers and Sisters of Redwall mad, for they were forever being told to put on warm mittens and scarves before going outside.

The abbot could only smile at the antics of the abbey's little ones. It had been a long time since anybeast could call _him_ young. The small pudgy mouse that once pinched pies off of window sills had long gone. Now in his place was a gray-furred abbot – who was also pudgy. So, in that sense, the little mouse-Dibbun was not completely gone. It was Foremole who had made that observation.

Just then a small knock came at the door of the abbot's study. Grove sat up, awakened. He blinked a bit, wondering if he had only imagined the sound, when the knock came again, louder this time.

"Come in," the venerable old mouse called.

The door opened and in came the Infirmary Sister, Bluebell. Bluebell was a beautiful mousemaid so named for her large blue eyes. Abbot Grove, and many of the other Elders, had been after Bluebell to marry and settle down for quite awhile. But the mousemaid only shook her head, saying that she wouldn't do such a thing until the Infirmary had another skilled healer – and when the one male meant for her came along.

"I've got your tea, Father Abbot," Bluebell said, her sweet voice soft and gentle. She pushed a trolley laden with a tea pot and cups into the study, quietly shutting the door behind her.

"Thank you, Bluebell," Grove replied, smiling. "Ah, what would I do without you?"

"Well, you'd forget to take your tea, for one thing."

The abbot laughed. "Oh dear, miss Bluebell, when _are_ you going to get married?"

"I believe I already explained it to you," the mousemaid replied as she handed Grove a tea-filled cup.

"In order for the Infirmary to have a talented healer to take over, I think you'd best start teaching all those already assisting you. Or you could start teaching any of the other Brothers and Sisters who are interested in learning. And as for waiting for the perfect male, I must inform you, my dear, that no male is perfect. No living beast is perfect, mark my words."

"Oh, but I don't mean 'perfect' in _that_ sense!" objected Bluebell. "I mean 'perfect' as in perfect for _me._ Where he's everything that I could possibly want in a husband. Where's he's everything that I like, and if he has any flaws, they either complement mine, or I can overlook them. That's all I ask for, Father Abbot."

"Maybe so, but are you sure you cannot find him among the malebeasts that already live here? There are dozens of handsome mice who would love to be your husband! Why, I bet you'd be happy with any of them. Especially Marek. I know he's been after you for seasons, and heaven knows you couldn't do better than him!"

Bluebell's face clouded a bit at the mention of Marek. "Well, I'd rather not talk about this right now, Father Abbot. I came to discuss how everything was going with _you." _

"But I am fine," said the abbot. "My health is good, my appetite sated, I'm sleeping well, I haven't had any trouble with anybeast, no contentions, no grudges, and all else seems to be well in the abbey! The only problem we have is finding you a husband!"

"Oh don't be ridiculous. There's got to be _something_ going on besides my getting a–"

Just then the door opened again, and in popped the head of Skipper. "Beggin' your pardon, Abbot, but there's somethin' just outside the gates that you might want to come and see!"

"There!" Bluebell said triumphantly as she set her cup down. "You see? There _is_ something else going on!"

* * *

"Oh my."

Abbot Grove had made it out of his study, through the halls, out the door, crossed the abbey grounds, climbed the abbey stairs, looked over the parapets, all to behold an amazing sight.

There, standing before the abbey was a gathering of many beasts, all clad in red, gold, green, white, and violet. Some were juggling, others were playing on lutes and flutes. Some were walking on stilts, others were dancing. Some were waving long, brightly-colored scarves about, others were singing.

Stepping out from the crowd was a tall, lanky hare, clad magnificently in gold and scarlet, with a long flowing cape. "Hail there, my good creatures! I am Ferdinand the Terrific, leader of. . . ."

The entire group of strangers suddenly stopped what they were doing and cried aloud:

"The Roaming Whimsical Troupe!"

"I say!" the hare cried indignantly, turning on his beasts. "Did I say any of you could speak? I should say not! Now you all be quiet and get back to advertisin' your skills and whatnot, wotwot!"

The animals rolled their eyes but nonetheless complied.

"Now then," the hare, Ferdinand, said, turning to look back up at the Redwallers. "As you can see, we are but a humble, traveling entertainment group, ready to perform for you gentle creatures in exchange for a roof over our heads and a plate full of food! We beg you, have mercy on us, for we have been traveling very long and hard lately, and are perishing for a decent meal–"

"Especially since this hare has been eating all our rations!" shouted a very large otter who was lifting up two squirrelmaids as if they weighed nothing.

"THAT'S A BIG LIE!" roared Ferdinand, dancing with rage. "I get the same amount as everybeast else in this miserable troupe, and by golly, I will NOT be charged with such erroneous accusations!"

Abbot Grove and Bluebell fell about laughing.

"Come, come!" Grove shouted down. "My good beasts! Come, come! Stop this bickering! We will let you in!"

The Troupe gave a wail of pleasure.

Ferdinand bowed low, his voice still raised. "Thank you, good Father Abbot! Thank you! I–"

Abbot Grove never heard what else the hare said, for Skipper began muttering in his ear.

"Are ye sure, Father Abbot? Didn't you notice the vermin with 'em?"

Grove blinked, his eyes scanning the Troupe. "Vermin? Where? I don't see any vermin."

"Right there, Father. Next to the badger."

The abbot looked, and . . . was enchanted.

Staring back up at him was surely the prettiest face he had ever seen – well, except maybe for Bluebell. The creature's, or ferret's, face was just so lovely, so well-formed. Her fur was smooth and colored cream, and her eyes were large and dark.

"Vermin, Skipper? You call _that_ vermin?"

"She's a ferret, Father. And a ferret's a ferret."

"Skipper," Grove said, his voice taking on a tone. He was suddenly grateful that Ferdinand had chosen to make a long-winded speech. "I know what has happened to you, and I know you hold a grudge. But please, she has done nothing to you, and travels in the company of woodlanders. Besides, don't we already have 'vermin' living here at the abbey?"

"Exactly," the otter chieftain replied huffily. "Which means we've already got enough, and we don't need anymore!"

"Skipper! I'm surprised at you! How can you be so quick to judge when we have both heard so many tales of vermin that have served on the side of good? And we have heard these stories even from our own abbey records!"

Skipper gave a snort, but nonetheless remained silent. Grove's attention turned back to the rest of the Troupe when the large otter ribbed Ferdinand about the speech he was making.

"Ah, give yer gob a rest and let the poor abbot open the doors! That way we can get in and have some food a lot quicker!"

The rest of the Troupe shouted in approval of the otter's words. Ferdinand gave them all a dark glare, but smiled up at the abbot.

"My apologies, Father. But, may we. . . .?"

"Oh, course! Certainly! Sister Bluebell, would you kindly run down and let Shadd know to open the gates?"

* * *

It was certainly just as much a treat for The Roaming Whimsical Troupe to be at Redwall as it was for the Redwallers to have them there. Once the great red-stone abbey came into view, the Troupe-members had been nearly stunned. By the time they arrived at the very front of the abbey, they were all well in awe of the building's magnificent structure. The great tall walls, the even taller building that rose up from behind the walls, the bell-tower, the arches, everything about it caused them to stare in fascination.

Primrose and Pansy were astonished that such a building could exist. Surely it was not built by beasts like them. It was impossible. After all the tales they heard about the red-stoned house, neither of them could've imagined it to be so wonderfully majestic. The beautiful shade of red that it was, surrounded by all the trees whose leaves had been turned gold by the autumn, really made it all an astonishing sight.

Merola herself gazed up at the abbey in just as much amazement as the others. All her life, she too had heard tales of Redwall, but had never expected to actually see it. And here she was with the very building itself standing before here, quite larger than life.

Even Ferdinand stared in nostalgia, reliving his childhood days at the abbey. But it had been he who snapped them back into reality.

"Come on, Troupe! Firm's the grip, you rotters! Chins in, chests out, jump to attention! We've got a whole abbey full of animals in there who need to be entertained! And that's our job! We've traveled for a full season to get where we are, and I refuse to allow anybeast to disgrace us! D'you hear me?!"

"Yes, sir," everybeast replied, not really in the mood for retort.

And so, they all quickly changed into their performance clothes, brought out any instrument they were good at, and started playing, just as Ferdinand ordered them. The hare then knocked loudly but elegantly at the gates. After awhile an otter's head peered over the ramparts at them. He stared at them for awhile before disappearing. Ferdinand assured them that he was probably going to go and get the Abbot. Or Abbess. Whichever was currently ruling.

The hare was proved true when the otter reappeared with a venerable-looking old mouse and a beautiful young mousemaid. Primrose thought there was something about the mousemaid that made her think of Lily.

Finally the abbot bade them welcome, and now, they were finally heading into Redwall Abbey.

* * *

Bluebell had heard the exchange between the abbot and Skipper. The mousemaid hadn't noticed the ferretmaid at first either, but once she got a good look at her, she agreed with Grove that surely such a creature couldn't be any trouble. Besides, as the abbot pointed out, she was in the company of woodlanders, was she not?

Still, Bluebell was worried. Not about the ferret, but about Skipper. She understood his hatred towards vermin, but she hoped he wouldn't be foul to the poor maid. Perhaps, over time, Skipper would learn not to be so suspicious of vermin. Heaven knows he was still a bit leery with Dren–

Suddenly the mousemaid stopped.

Dren.

Bluebell gave a grin. It was _her_ turn to play matchmaker!

* * *

**A/N:** And here comes our fourth flower! And oh, could it be...? That Primrose, for the first time, might be meeting...


	6. The Ferret

**Chapter 6**

"Incredible."

It was like stepping into another world, passing over the threshold of Redwall Abbey. None of the Troupe could've figured that there'd be such a long, wide space between the building and the gates. And in that space was an emerald lawn, a great big orchard, and a beautifully sparkling pond. Because it was autumn, the leaves in the orchard were no longer green, but rather all shades of red, orange, and yellow. Some were even falling, landing gently in the crystal pond water. Nothing Primrose and Pansy could've imagined would have been as magnificent as this.

Primrose recalled how Ferdinand told them how many warlords in winters past had tried to take the abbey for their own, only to fail. This only helped to deepen her awe of the abbey. The ferret could understand perfectly why a warlord would want such a place as his fortress, but she was glad that they all failed, for this place was far too special for any wickedness to reside in it. Yet Primrose was also a bit afraid now, because this building had stood against so many attacks, and stood before them in complete majesty. It was a little overwhelming.

"Awesome," Pansy whispered, gazing around.

"Welcome, my friends," said the abbot as he descended the wall-steps to receive his guests. "Welcome to Redwall Abbey."

Primrose looked at the old mouse, and thought he reminded her of Uncle Markas somewhat. Both were mice, after all, and male, as well as gray-furred and round. But Markas had a hardened, roguish look about him, and a spring to his step that made him seem almost child-like. The abbot, however, had a softer, wiser look about him. He looked as though he was ready to help anybeast in need of council or healing.

Ferdinand strode forward and gave the abbot a flourishing bow. "Ah, Father Abbot, again, I give my thanks for allowing our humble troupe into your wondrous abode!"

"Oh, please, please," the abbot said, smiling as he folded his paws into his wide habit sleeves. "It is I who should be thanking you for bringing your wondrous troupe to our humble abode!"

Primrose and Pansy giggled.

"But I believe introductions should be made around," the abbot continued. "I am Abbot Grove, though you may call me 'Father' if you like. And this," he said, gesturing at the mousemaid next to him. "Is Sister Bluebell, our Infirmary Keeper."

Now that she saw her up-close, Primrose saw some differences between Sister Bluebell and Lily. Bluebell had a soft, quiet, serene look about her, like nothing could trouble her. With Lily, there was always some kind of agitation tugging at her. And Lily's eyes were dark, whereas Bluebell's were blue. But both were pretty and gentle-looking.

"Ah, tis a pleasure to be entertaining an audience that has such beauty within it!" Ferdinand proclaimed, gallantly taking Bluebell's paw and kissing it.

Bluebell gave a small laugh. "Thank you, good sir! I look forward to seeing the talent of your troupe!"

"And this," the abbot said, referring to the big otter on his other side. "Is Skipper Torren, leader of the Mossflower otters."

Skipper didn't look quite as big or strong as Rogak, Primrose thought. He also looked older, and had a slightly haggard, battle-hardened look about him. But he grinned pleasantly as Ferdinand leapt over to give his thanks, only to trip on his cloak.

The Troupe laughed; they had all actually been wondering when Ferdinand would do that.

"Here, mate, can I help ye up?" Skipper asked, not waiting for a reply as he picked the reddened hare back up. "Shame on ye, all of you!" he added to the troupe, grinning mischievously. "Laughing when your poor leader falls down!"

"He does that a lot, we're used to it!" Rogak replied, grinning just as mischievously.

* * *

When all was said and done, Ferdinand told the abbot that they would perform first before eating any dinner. Abbot Grove agreed, saying that those with kitchen duties hadn't started cooking yet. And besides, everything in the Great Hall would need to be set up first, and the abbeybeasts would need to be informed of the Troupe's arrival.

A young squirrel by the name of Rinko was then told to ring the abbey bells for an announcement from the abbot. Ferdinand led his troupe into the Great Hall, and there they began to set up for their first performance. As they did, several beasts clad in green habits walked by, all of them giving the Troupe a wide-eyed stare.

"Hah!" said Ferdinand. "Tonight we shall give our greatest performance ever! And that means I want you all to work extra-hard tonight, because right now, we are in Redwall Abbey! A place of peace, justice, and beauty! So let's not make any mistakes, eh?"

"That goes double for you, master cape-tripper," Rogak retorted.

* * *

Bluebell poked her head inside one of the dormitories. "Dren? What are you doing in here? Didn't you hear the bells ringing?"

"I'm reading a book, I didn't want to stop. Besides, I figured whatever it was, you could tell me."

The mousemaid sighed, and stepped in. "There's a traveling entertainment group downstairs. They're going to put a show on for us before dinner."

"There, see? I didn't need to have the abbot publicly announce that to me."

"Well, we don't want anybeast inside just now. They might distract the troupe from practicing."

"But I'm up here on my bed! The troupe doesn't need the dormitory to put a show on, do they? Besides, I don't feel like seeing a group of clowns."

"They're not just clowns, Dren! You really shouldn't continue this attitude of yours, not when we have guests around."

"But they won't have to see my 'attitude' if I stay up here all night."

"I've a feeling they're going to be staying for more than one night. But anyway, come on down. I want you to help me give them refreshments before we head outside."

"Me? Why do you want me to help you?"

"Because you're the only beast that's left here. Now come on."

* * *

"Now do you all remember that one feat we pulled? The one with Rogak lifting a table with all the moles and squirrels on it?" Ferdinand asked his Troupe.

"You mean the time when I dropped a table on your head?" Rogak 'innocently' asked.

The Troupe laughed. Even Ferdinand, though it was a sarcastic laugh.

"Ha ha, very funny. But I think we should do that for tonight. First we'll have all the mice-clowns come out, walking on stilts and turning cartwheels and somersaults, y'know, making the Redwallers laugh. Then we bring the table out, have the moles juggle on it, then Rogak picks the table up. Then come out The Dancing Squirrels, and four of them will replace the moles on the table. After that its all scarves and juggling. And then–"

"And then I land the table on your head?" Rogak inquired.

The Troupe roared. So did Ferdinand.

"WILL YOU STOP INTERRUPTING ME?!"

Silence.

"Thank you! Now, then, I've given it some thought, and I think while this all going on, Spiketipp and the mice-clowns backstage will be playing their instruments. They'll be playing something lively, I suppose, and once they're all done, the moles and squirrels will cease what they're doing and take a bow. Then they'll all go backstage, and Rogak will _not_ land the table on my head, thank you very much!"

__

"Ahhh. . . ."

"No, he will just set the table down carefully and go backstage as well. Then I think will be a good time for Spiketipp and Primrose to perform a few 'magic' tricks. Spike, Prim, I want you to both practice some new routines. And make certain that you both look good, eh? Well, that'll be easy for Primrose. Spiketipp, I'm not so sure about. . . ."

Spiketipp laughed along with the Troupe; he wasn't as touchy as Ferdinand.

"Alright, I'll go root through some of the dresses real quick, okay?" Primrose told him before heading over to one of the many trunks.

"What do you suppose you'll do?" Pansy asked, poking her head over the trunk's open lid.

"Oh, I don't know. Spiketipp's the magician, you'll have to ask him. Say, which dress do you think is better?" the ferretmaid asked, holding up two gowns.

"Go with the purple one," Pansy said, pointing. "Purple's always been your best color. And I would suggest. . . ."

Primrose had already bent over to put the other dress back, and was still sorting through for any other ornament to add on to her costume.

"Yes? What else would you suggest?" she asked, wondering why her sister had gone silent all of a sudden. She looked up, and saw that Pansy was staring at something behind Primrose.

Suddenly a voice entered her ears.

"Would you care for some scones?"

Primrose straightened up, turned around . . . and nearly gaped.

Standing before her . . . was another ferret. A _male_ ferret, too. He was young, tall, and, in Primrose's opinion, _incredibly_ handsome. His blue eyes seemed to blaze within his striking face, causing the ferretmaid's heart to freeze and burn at the exact same time.

"Primrose," Pansy's voice said with mock-indignity. "The poor male asked you if you would like a scone? Would you like one, or do you just want to stare at him?"

Blinking, Primrose shot her sister a glare before accepting one of the proffered items. "Yes, thank you. That was very considerate."

The male ferret shook his head. "No, it was Bluebell's idea. She just wanted me to help pass out some refreshments before we went outside to wait for you all to be ready."

"Still, all the same, thank you. Um, my name's Primrose."

"I'm Dren."

"Nice to meet you, Dren," the ferretmaid smiled, holding out her paw, which Dren shook, causing a flood of prickling heat to pass through Primrose.

"Likewise," the male ferret replied solemnly. "Welp, I'll let you get back to your practicing."

And with that, Dren was off, serving scones to the other Troupe-members.

Primrose stared after him, then suddenly whirled on Pansy, who was smirking.

"If you make any rib whatsoever, little squirrel, I'll kill you."

* * *

Meanwhile, Bluebell, who was also passing out scones to the other Troupe-members, was watching the whole thing. She felt a smirk of triumph cross her face; for as long as she could remember, Dren had always been the only one of his species. Ever since he came to the abbey, the poor ferret had led a secluded life, caring little for anything that had to do with interacting with any of the Redwallers.

But now, thanks to the Troupe's arrival, all of that would change.


	7. The Feast

**Chapter 7**

If The Roaming Whimsical Troupe had prayed that the Redwallers would be mildly impressed with their talents, their prayers would've been answered tenfold.

The abbeydwellers were just as amazed by the Troupe as the Troupe was of the abbey. They howled with laughter when the clown-mice came out on their stilts, making silly faces as they tried to walk along a tightrope. Some of the other clown-mice were on their own two footpaws, turning cartwheels and somersaults, playing instruments and throwing jokes to one another.

And then, when all the mice took a bow and went behind the carts that served as a backstage, Ferdinand bounded out, announcing the coming of "Rogak the Mighty!"

The large otter was met with great cheering and clapping. The ottermaids squealed and swooned when Rogak flexed his muscles.

"Alright, alright!" Ferdinand shouted. "Come on, now then! Stop flexing those muscles and makin' the pretty maids faint, wotwot!"

"Yes, yer honor," Rogak replied. He then turned his attention to the large table he was supposed to lift. Crouching down beneath it, the otter huffed and puffed, preparing himself for the heavy load. Finally, Rogak stood tall, lifting the table high above his head.

The Redwallers gasped and cheered. Even more ottermaids swooned.

"Ah, my good beasts!" Ferdinand declared theatrically. "You haven't seen anything yet! Here come the Juggling Moles!"

All the moles, clad in red-and-gold jester suits, trundled out, juggling several items between themselves: fruit, clubs, and balls of two sizes: small ones that they tossed paw to paw, and big ones that they bounced on their heads.

Rogak then crouched down, allowing all five to climb up onto the table. The Redwallers held their breath. Would the otter be able to lift them all?

Yes! Rogak stood even taller, holding the mole-laden table high. Not only that, but the Juggling Moles kept on juggling. Not one juggling instrument was missed or dropped, much to the awe of the Redwallers.

"And now," called Ferdinand. "For the Dancing Squirrels!"

Eight beautiful squirrelmaids came out, swaying in wispy gowns and waving long scarves about. The four moles on the tables' corners paused in their juggling to jump down from the table, and in the same moment, four of the squirrelmaids leapt up and took their places. The four moles who had jumped off continued to juggle amongst themselves, but they didn't leave out the fifth mole who remained on the table. And all around them, the squirrelmaids danced and danced.

The Redwallers were astounded. Never before had they seen such precise skill! Surely one of the flying instruments would hit a squirrel or get caught in her scarf? Or one of the dancers on the table would most certainly fall off and get hurt?

But it never happened.

Just then, one of the dancers on the ground, who had the reddest fur any Redwaller had ever seen, began to leap past the audience, waving her scarf cheekily in their faces. But the little squirrel was so graceful, and surely it was just all part of the act, so the abbeydwellers found it easy to forgive her. Besides, she suddenly started making comical imitations and gestures that made them all laugh.

All this time, from behind the carts came music that kept a rhythm going among the performers. The Redwallers hardly noticed it, being so absorbed in what was going on in front of them. But suddenly, there came a particular note that was loud and brief. It was in that moment that every mole and squirrel suddenly stood still, turning to the audience and bowing – and not one juggling instrument had been dropped.

The abbeybeasts went wild with applause, standing up and whistling.

As Rogak carried the table backstage with the moles and squirrels, Ferdinand came out again to introduce the next and final act.

"_Aaaannnnnnddddd nnnoooooowwwwww_," the hare shouted. "For our next and final act, we give you a special treat! Among us is a magician like no other! Oh yes, my dears," he added to the awestruck Dibbuns. "A magician. Come, sit still and please keep silent for our own Spiketipp, the Magic Hedgehog, who will be assisted by our very own – and very lovely – Primrose!"

The Redwallers clapped as Spiketipp trundled out, clad in sparkling robes with a rounded hat perched atop his spiky head. They were a bit stunned at the sight of Primrose, both because of her species, and because of her beauty.

The ferretmaid had carefully washed and groomed herself before the act (partially because it was a performance, after all, but also because she knew Dren would be watching). Her fur gleamed brightly and looked very soft. The dark eyes in her delicate face sparkled like wine, and as she curtsied prettily before the audience, they scanned the room for the male ferret.

As soon as the clapping died down, Spiketipp pulled from his sleeve a very large piece of cloth. Primrose then twirled gracefully past the hedgehog, who suddenly draped the cloth over her.

Then, with a sharp jerk, Spike lifted the cloth–

–and Primrose wasn't there.

The audience gasped. Where'd the pretty ferret go?

Spiketipp held the cloth out between his two paws, turned it over so they could see both sides. Then he gave a whirl, spinning the cloth–

–and Primrose came twirling back out of it.

The Redwallers clapped and cheered in awe and relief.

Spiketipp proceeded to amaze the abbeydwellers with his skill. He made Primrose levitate three feet in the air; he made the ferretmaid disappear from sight and then reappear across the room; he made strange gestures with his paws, only to pull a bouquet of flowers out of thin air and present them to her (this got some "Awws" from the Redwallers); but what got the audience most was when he pulled out a very long line of silk kerchiefs from both of her ears.

Primrose had sat patiently throughout the trick, though after awhile her brow started to furrow, as well as tap her footpaw. But the hedgehog eventually got all the silk cloths out of her head. The Redwallers were in stitches by the end of that act.

Finally, with a bow and a curtsy, Spike and Primrose scurried backstage. Ferdinand then came bounding out, crying aloud,

"O good Redwallers! I hope you enjoyed our humble performances tonight!"

The hare was met by a tidal wave of approval. Abbot Grove stood up.

"Indeed, my good hare," the old mouse said after the clapping had died down. "We owe you our best fare for such a wonderful show! I only wish we'd have known ahead of time how tremendous your Troupe would be!"

"_We'll_ be the judges of how good your tuck is, Father Abbot, just as you have been the judge of how good our act has been. Troupe! Fall in!"

The entire Roaming Whimsical Troupe came out, only to be met by thunderous applause. The Troupe bowed and curtsied once again.

"Please, please!" Abbot Grove called. "Let the performers get to their seats so that we may all share in tonight's dinner!"

As soon as the Troupe made their way into the seats that were saved for them by the Redwallers, the abbot said the grace.

_"May good fortune never cease,_

_Where we build and till the soil,_

_Mother Nature grant us peace,_

_And reward us for our toil._

_Autumn's harvest has been so sweet,_

_Food is here for one and all,_

_In good friendship let us eat,_

_As one family at Redwall."_

"Amen!" everybeast said gratefully.

Trolleys were pushed out, and bowls, baskets, plates, and platters of food were stacked onto the tables. The Troupe's eyes bugged out at the sight of so much food. And what food!

"Mm-MMM!" Ferdinand said as he wiped his lips daintily with his kerchief. "When I first came to Redwall as a leveret, I remember tasting a marchpane cake such as this! The meadowcream that topped it was simply scrumptious! Such a lovely butter color to it! Only I think this one is much tastier, for I don't remember the other one being covered in candied chestnuts and honey-preserved rose-petals!"

"You came here as a leveret?" Abbot Grove asked over a large wedge of cheese and an onion-and-leek turnover. "How odd! I don't recall any hares by your name ever being here during my time!"

"Well, we weren't here for very long, my mother and I," Ferdinand replied as he seized a salad with lettuce leaves, watercress and scallions. "But the abbey certainly did make an impression on me! I never forgot it – nor its food!"

The abbot laughed, accepting a damson pudding from a well-behaved young one. "I'm glad that the abbey caused you such joy as a little un. But tell me, how old are you, and how old were you then? Because it seems so strange that I shouldn't remember you."

"Well, let's see," the hare replied, dipping his spoon into a vegetable stew. "I am forty-five seasons old, I think – I could be wrong, I really don't keep track of things like that. Though I'm almost certain I was around four or five, or maybe even six seasons when we first came here."

"Well, then, let me think," Grove said, pondering over a warm rye farl. "If I'm correct, that was forty seasons ago, and I would've been around twenty at that time . . . then it would explain why I don't remember you, because I left the abbey for a time when I was that age."

"Really?" Ferdinand asked, sinking his teeth into some sliced apples while reaching for a latticed pear tart. "Why did you leave?"

"Oh, to gain wisdom, I suppose," the old mouse replied, shrugging. "I was young and wild then. I needed to get out into the world to see if abbey-life really was for me. And as it turned out, it was!"

Spiketipp was munching on a gooseberry crumble with meadowcream topping. Sitting next to the hedgehog were Vanna and Acorn, both of whom were feeding each other from the bowls of vegetable salad and fruit salad before them.

Spike snorted at the giggling, lovesick squirrels. "Here now, none of that stuff at the table! There are young uns about!"

"My sentiments exactly!" said one of the Dancing Squirrels, who was eating an apple pie.

Rogak was surrounded by every ottermaid in the abbey.

"Ooh, Mister Rogak! You're so strong! Here, have some of this apple sponge pudding! I made it myself!"

"Mmrrff! Mm! Delicious, young maid! Why I–"

"Here, have some of this!" another ottermaid said hurriedly, holding out a heavy fruitcake. "I made this one myself, too!"

"Mm-mmm! Scrumptious! And is that a strawberry shortcake I see over there?"

A volley of squealing ottermaids fell on the shortcake, all intent on feeding Rogak.

"Let go! It's mine! I get to feed him!"

"No, you don't! _I'm_ the one who made it!"

"Did not! _I_ did!"

Primrose, who was nibbling on an almond tart, giggled at the spectacle. "Ah, that Rogak. Always getting the maids so excited." She turned and smiled at Dren, who was eating a honey scone. The male ferret didn't look up, his attention seemingly focused on his food.

The ferretmaid was still astounded to be in the presence of another creature like her, but so far Dren had turned out to be not so good company: he was very quiet, and almost surly. It seemed impossible that such a creature could be unhappy in a place like Redwall; it reminded Primrose so much of Noonvale! Only Noonvale didn't have such food.

Pansy, who was gobbling down a wild cherry turnover, said, "Yes, I just hope those maids don't overturn the tables; I'm still eating!"

Dren gave a snorting laugh. This surprised (and somewhat irritated) Primrose, who hadn't been able to get much out of him.

A handsome mouse sitting across from the ferretmaid, whose plate was covered with a thick vegetable flan, leaned forward and said, "That was quite a performance you put on, miss!"

"Thank you," Primrose replied, smiling. "Though most of the credit should go to Spiketipp, he's the magician."

"Well, you were very patient when he pulled all those kerchiefs out of your ear!"

The ferretmaid laughed. "How do you do, I'm Primrose."

The mouse introduced himself, "Marek. Uh oh, I wonder if yon otter can eat all that."

The ferretmaid turned and saw that Rogak was being plied with an almond cake with candied lilac buds. "Oh, I think Rogak can down all that, and then some."

Marek laughed. "I must say, it's a great pleasure that a troupe such as yourselves came to our abbey!"

"Thank you. And I must say, it's an equally great pleasure that an abbey such as yourselves welcomed us to share such lovely food!"

"Hurr, that'n's wot ee gurt abbey's for, young missy!" grinned the mole sitting next to Marek.

"Oh, Primrose, meet Foremole Billum," Marek smiled.

"Pleased to meet you," the ferretmaid said cordially. "What's that you got there, sir?"

Billum winked. "Oi bee diggin' moi snout through ee deeper'n'ever turnip'n'tater'n'beetroot pie, moi dear! Burr arr!"

"Sounds lovely."

"Hurr, you'm better eat up, afore all ee vittles are all gone," the mole warned. "You'm be needin' ee strength for shows!"

Primrose laughed and chose a pear and chestnut flan. "Alright, if you say so." She glanced over at Dren. He too had chosen a flan, a mushroom one covered in onion sauce. The ferretmaid hoped he'd come out of his shell soon.

"Say, what's that you got there?" Pansy called over to Skipper.

"It's watershrimp and hotroot soup," replied the big otter.

"Can I try some? Please?"

"It might be a bit hot for you, missy."

"Don't 'missy' me! I'll be the one to decide what's too hot for me, thank you!"

Skipper chuckled a little at the squirrelmaid's forthright manner. Nevertheless, he scooted his bowl over to her. Pansy dunked her spoon into it and took a big gulp.

"_Whoa_! Augh! _Whoop_!"

The otter chieftain laughed, and set about for something cold for her to drink. At first he grabbed a bottle of plum'n'beetroot wine, but then decided that some gooseberry crush would be more suitable for a youngbeast. Pansy gurgled it all down, but still looked about for a cool beverage. Skipper snatched a chestnut and buttercup beer out of her paws, telling her that she was too young for such drinks.

He did, however, allow her a dandelion and burdock cordial, a dandelion beer, and some pale cider. But he wasn't fast enough to reprieve her of a nutbrown ale. After that, Skipper just gave up and picked up a few biscuits and loaves, stuffing them with several different types of cheeses to make himself a rough sandwich.

"Ah, cheese," said Merola, who was sitting next to Skipper (she had watched with great amusement the past proceedings, deciding that things would be more interesting if she allowed Pansy to drink the soup). "What would we do without such fine stuff?" The badgermum picked up two types, deep yellow and pale cream, both studded with nuts, celery and herbs.

The meal wore on, everybeast (especially the Roaming Whimsical Players) managing to tuck in a bit of everything. Damson, apple, and blackberry tarts with pastry latticed tops were passed around the Dancing Squirrels; strawberry fizz was quickly being downed by various Dibbuns; otters were sharing around some Bubblin' Bobbs and riverbank salad; Merola dined on an arrowroot scone with honey; Abbot Grove had some mushroom and chestnut stew; and Ferdinand had managed to consume some wild onion and leek soup, spring vegetable pasties, nutbread, oatfarls, wheatcobs, blackberry and apple tarts, plum maple pudding, elderberry pie with yellow summercream, and gooseberry preserve scones hot with buttercup spread.

Skipper leaned back in his chair, patting his belly, which had expanded greatly after all that he had consumed. "I think I'll have to skip a few meals over the next few days," the otter chieftain remarked idly to Merola. "Don't want to end with a great big paunch!"

Merola, sipping some chestnut brown beer, chuckled. "Don't think you'll be any less of a warrior of you did. I know a warrior whose weight could make you look like a twig!"

"Really? Who was he?"

"Markas the Warrior. He's the uncle of my first charge, Lily. Ah, but he could really try a beast's patience sometimes. I'm so glad his niece didn't turn out like him. Or Primrose, for that matter. Pansy, though. . . ." the badgermum trailed off, watching as the squirrel gobbled down a cherry cake glazed with candied nuts.

Skipper blinked. "Prim . . . you mean you raised the ferret?"

Merola fixed the otter with a severe glare. "I'll thank you not to refer to her as 'the ferret', my good sir."

"Ah, please, forgive me," Skipper quickly said. "I didn't mean offense. But you must realize, my role in this abbey is to protect it from all those who bring it harm. And usually, those who do bring it harm. . . ."

"I understand what you mean," Merola said, though she softened up a little. "I must admit, I myself was a bit skeptical about taking in a ferret at first. But who would've thought that–" she swiftly broke off.

"Who would've thought what?" Skipper inquired.

"Well," the badgermum said, lowering her voice. "Please don't tell anybeast, but Primrose ended up becoming my favorite charge."

The otter's eyes widened. "R-really?"

"Oh yes. I know it's wrong to play favorites with children, but she always caused me the least grief growing up. I mean, with Pansy, she was always very troublesome; either sticking her paw into the honey jar or pulling some prank or making fun of somebeast's 'enormous bottom'."

Skipper laughed in surprise, declining the leek and chestnut pasty covered in thyme and radish sauce that one of his otters was offering him.

"And then there was Petunia," continued Merola. "She's a hare, by the way, and didn't find any talent on the stage; she went to Salamandastron with Markas. But anyway . . . with Petunia, she was a polite little thing, very sweet and kind, and so wonderfully bright! But exceedingly frustrating with the way how she wore her clothes. No matter what she wore or how many times I warned her, that little hare-mite would find some way of dirtying it up. Or if it wasn't soiling the frock, it was ripping it! I tried her whole life to turn her into a lady, but Petunia wouldn't have anything to do with it!

"Which is why I ended up favoring Primrose. She was always so eager to learn how to be a lady, and so pretty, too! It was always a delight to make new gowns for her, not just because she would look beautiful in them, but also because she'd take good care of them."

"That is an interesting twist," Skipper mused, glancing at the two maidens. They were splitting a damson and hazelnut flan topped with mint cream. "But . . . how did you come to join the troupe?"

"Oh, we lived in a place called Noonvale, once upon a time," the badgermum answered, munching on some roast chestnuts with cream and honey. "This last spring was when The Roaming Whimsical Troupe came by and performed for us. Primrose and Pansy both found talent in stage-work: Primrose excelled at acting, and Pansy is a natural-born dancer. It only seemed natural they should become members of the Troupe. But somebeast had to keep an eye on them, which is why I came along. Besides, Lily had recently married, and they needed the cottage all to themselves."

"Fascinating. Alright, fine!" Skipper finally accepted some food from one of his otters: some clover oatcakes dipped in hot redcurrant sauce. "I suppose I've still got room left. So, you raised her since infancy?"

"Yes, that's right."

If that was true, then maybe Skipper didn't have much grounds for worrying about Primrose; he hadn't met a badger yet who was evil. "Well, then, I suppose I should apologize again for being suspicious of your charge."

"You didn't know," shrugged Merola. "And as long as you don't let her know about it . . . but I am curious, though, about that male ferret she's sitting next to. What's the story behind him?"

Skipper's face suddenly clouded over. "Oh, him. That one I'd keep my eye on. If I had my way, he wouldn't be living in the abbey right now. He's been nothing but unpleasant ever since he got here. It's a wonder, I think, that Abbot Grove still allows Bluebell to keep him here."

Merola suddenly looked with concern over at the two ferrets. "What do you mean? Explain."

Dren put some celery and herb cheese on acorn bread with chopped radishes as Primrose continued her attempt to engage him in conversation.

"So, how long have you lived here?"

"Long enough."

Primrose frowned. Her excitement at meeting another ferret was swiftly waning. To all her questions and statements, he had either ignored her or gave short, unsatisfying answers. It was so infuriating!

Pansy looked up from the huge seed and sweet barely cake with mint icing that she was feasting on. "I don't see how anybeast could live here long enough!"

"Give it a few days, and maybe you will," the male ferret answered darkly, sipping some pear cordial.

Primrose was quickly beginning to dislike Dren. He was rude and cynical. Hardly the type she need fall for. Pansy was also feeling the same the way, and could tell her sister was disappointed that the first ferret she met was so unsavory.

"Say, Prim, want to finish off my strawberry juice?" the squirrel said in an attempt to cheer her up.

"No, thanks."

Abbot Grove had long left off eating, allowing his rotund stomach to settle as he sat marveling at Ferdinand, who was still going strong – and not gaining an ounce of fat.

"Mm-mmm! My goodness, Father Abbot! I've never tasted better bulrush and watershrimp soup in my life! Oh, and these honeyed toffee pears, whose idea was it to create these? Pure genius! Ah, maple tree cordial, mmm! Exquisite! Ooh, seedcake and potato scones! And is that October ale I see over there?"

"Yes, take it," the old mouse said, smiling and arching his eyebrows as he passed the tankard the hare's way.

Ferdinand took a good, long drought. Wiping the foam away from his lips, the hare continued to rain praise down on the abbey's cooking. "Simply marvelous, dear boy! Absolutely spiffing, wotwot! Ah, and while I have just a little bit of room left. . . ."

Grove's eyes became very round as he witnessed the hare consume a colossal turnip'n'tater'n'beetroot'n'bean'deeper'n'ever pie with tomato chutney, followed by hotroot punch and hotroot celery cream dip.

"Ahhh, I think I've had all that I can tuck, good sir abbot. Can't thank you enough!"

"Well, I'm certainly glad that we were able to repay you for such a fine performance. And hopefully the remainder of your stay will be just as delightful."

"I should hope so, Father Abbot!"

"Ahem, now then," Abbot Grove said, raising his voice so that all the abbey could hear him. "I think its best that we all start getting to bed. Would somebeast see to it that the Dibbuns get put to bed and–"

A loud, youthful voice interrupted the abbot.

"DAB!"

Following that, came more small voices, echoing the first one.

"DAB!"

"DAB!"

"DAB!"

"DAB!"

Within moments, practically all of the Dibbuns were up and running about, screaming at the top of their lungs, "DAB! DAB! DAB! DAB! DAB! DAB! DAB! DAB! DAB!"

"Oh dear, not more 'Dibbuns Against Bedtime'!" groaned the abbot. "Somebeast, stop them!"

Some of the abbeydwellers were already on it, scurrying after the tiny animals. Even some of the Troupe lent a paw. But nobeast could've predicted what happened next:

"Yes! That's right, run, little ones! Run!"

Pansy had stood up on her chair and shouted those words. She then jumped down and began running with the Dibbuns, screaming "DAB! DAB! DAB!" herself.

Skipper sighed. "Shouldn't have let her have all that ale."

Merola leapt into action; it was practically second-nature to her to apprehend naughty little ones. The old badger bored down on the tiny beasts, barking, "None of this nonsense! Now, stoppit! All of you! Stoppit!"

Rogak extricated himself from the group of ottermaidens and called to the Dibbuns, "Here! Anybeast want to go on a boat-ride?" The big otter was then piled on by eager youngsters. "Alright, then! Let's go!" And with that, he followed Sister Bluebell up to where the dormitories were.

Merola followed, her arms also filled with Dibbuns, all of whom were subdued by the badger's size and strength.

As for Pansy, she had been intercepted by Primrose.

"No fair, you big cheat!" the squirrelmaid whined as the ferret dragged her up by the tail. "You didn't even give me a chance to fight back!"

"Too bad," was all Primrose would answer.

They left Great Hall with everybeast else laughing themselves silly.

* * *

Later that night, after he helped put dishes away and set the stools and chairs back right, Skipper Torren made his way up to the dormitories. The otter was tired and sleepy, his belly full of food (less than half of which what his crew had forced on him; Skipper had the suspicion that his otters were trying to make him fat just to annoy him) and his head full of thoughts about the maiden he had deemed 'vermin' on first sight.

He was still not sure if he should trust Primrose, a ferret. True, she was raised by woodlanders and traveled in woodlanders' company, but . . . Skipper just needed a little more assurance.

As he walked through Great Hall, the otter chieftain paused and looked up at the great tapestry of Martin the Warrior. The warriormouse smiled down at Skipper, who found himself silently asking the legendary hero for help.

_Please, Martin. Please, tell me something: is that ferret to be trusted? Is there anything that I need to worry about? You know what I've been through because of her kind, but I can't turn her out, not after all that's happened. And this isn't my abbey; it's up to Father Grove to make that decision. But . . . just please, Martin, please, just let me know. . . ._

Skipper's tired eyes continued to stare into the woven ones of Martin. Once before, he had been spoken to by the warrior's ghost: Sister Bluebell had taken a group of youngbeasts out on a picnic luncheon to show them what types of herbs were good for healing. Later, Skipper had gone for a swim in the abbey pond, and while he was floating about, he had a vision of Martin telling him that Bluebell was in danger.

The otter chieftain then rallied a small group of his otters and followed the mousemaid's tracks. Skipper's vision had proven true: a small band of vermin had been surrounding the group picnicking woodlanders. The skirmish that followed ended quickly enough, but the otter knew that had not Martin warned them, the abbeybeasts would've been killed.

Oddly enough, it was that very band of vermin that Dren the ferret had been apart of. Skipper hadn't seen it, but Bluebell claimed that Dren tried to stop the vermin leader from attacking her. The young ferret had been knocked unconscious, and Bluebell was adamant about bringing him back to Redwall for her to take care of. Skipper naturally objected, but at the same time, he knew it was cowardly to finish off a fallen opponent. So he had his otters carry Dren back to the abbey.

So far, Skipper didn't know for sure if was a mistake to let the ferret in. It had been a season since the incident, and Dren had never been outwardly aggressive or harmful to any of the abbeybeasts. But the ferret's surly attitude and ungrateful behavior turned off many a Redwaller. The only creatures that could seemingly still stand Dren were Bluebell and the abbot.

Skipper sighed and shook his head. He had already made up his mind to keep an eye on the male ferret, but what about Primrose? He hoped that Martin would answer him on that. The otter chieftain would forever be very grateful and relieved for the first time Martin gave him assistance, and right now, he needed it even more. Skipper kept on gazing up at the warriormouse's image on the tapestry. Everything was so still and silent and dark. . . .

. . . and then he heard a voice. A voice he had heard only once before, nor did the sound of it make Skipper want to look around for its source. Somehow, he knew he was already looking at the source.

_The maiden bears no ill will. Trust her, she is on our side._

Skipper went to bed feeling a whole lot better about Primrose. Now if only he could get his crew to stop stuffing him. . . .

* * *

**A/N:** Interesting fact; all the food that was listed in the feast, its all the food that Martin was stuffed with in "Martin's Greatest Challenge"! XD


	8. The Toads

**Chapter 8**

"Do you suppose Starbob Crumworthy is still alive, Uncle?" Petunia asked as she and Markas continued their trek southwards.

"If he is, he'll be ancient," the old mouse replied. "He's older'n me, I know that much. I wonder if he retired at all."

"Well, it'll be good once we get to Salamandastron," the haremaid said cheerfully. "That way you can find out for yourself."

"Maybe."

They continued on in silence for awhile. Petunia was awed at how the world outside of Noonvale seemed to go on and on. Just when she thought she'd seen enough of everything, something new would always come along. And Markas had informed her that there were several different types of climates that they hadn't come across, and that each of those climates had several different animals living in them.

_I've come all this way,_ the haremaid thought to herself, _and I've only seen a sliver of what the world has to offer._

Suddenly she became aware of a large, pointed object rising out of the earth in the distance.

"Uncle," Petunia said, pointing. "Is that it? Is that Salamandastron?!"

Markas peered up ahead, and shook his head. "No, that's not it. But it is a sign that we're getting close."

"We are?" the haremaid asked as her heart fell and rose. "How can you be sure?"

"Because east of Salamandastron is a mountain range that stretches far to the north. If I'm correct, that's the very range that we're coming up on, meaning that all we have to do now is get on the western side of the range to get to our destination."

"Oh!" said Petunia, suddenly feeling very excited. "Well, come on! Let's get a move on!"

"Not so fast, missy! It's midday, and my stomach's feeling a little flat. Let's stop for a bite to eat."

The haremaid paused and gazed down at her uncle's paunch. "Feeling a little flat, eh? I'd hate to think what would happen if you felt full."

"Shut up," the old mouse snapped, though he grinned and winked.

Petunia was suddenly even gladder that they were getting nearer to Salamandastron, not because it meant she was that much closer to becoming a Long Patroller, but also because they were running painfully low on food. Markas jokingly remarked that he was starting to see his toes again, but the haremaid could tell he too was concerned about the scarceness of food.

"Long Patrol hares – in fact, just about all hares – have great big appetites," the old mouse said as they trekked across the flatlands. "As I recall, they've kept up a bit of farmland just so they could all be able to have a satisfying meal every day."

"Sounds lovely," sighed Petunia. She was slowly getting hungrier by the day. Growing up, the haremaid remembered Merola remarking that she didn't have the typical appetite of most hares. But now, Petunia was certain she'd gained such an appetite. She found herself fantasizing about the feast at Lily and Dakar's wedding – which seemed like a thousand seasons ago. . . .

Again the two travelers fell into silence; lately they had been doing more of that. Perhaps it was because of their hunger; perhaps it was because they hadn't had another adventure on their journey for awhile, and they were bored; but whatever the reason was, the silence between them was comfortable. They'd passed through many trials together, and no longer felt awkward with one another.

But this time, the silence began to gnaw at Petunia's nerves. So she asked, "Uncle, could you tell me again what all the positions and titles there are in the Long Patrol?"

"Er, lessee. Well, first, there's the Badger Ruler, the ultimate authority. Then there's the general, the brigadier, the colonel, and the major. Next is the captain, the lieutenant, the corporal and . . . no, wait, it's the sergeant, then it's the corporal, and after that it's the private. I think that's all there is. Say, do you know something? The very first general the Long Patrol had was a female."

"Really?"

"Yes, her name was . . . oh, dear, it's been awhile since I heard it. Dor . . . Dorothea . . . Dorothy . . . something like that. I can't quite recall. But I do remember that her singing voice was legendary."

"Is that so? Well, I wish I could've heard it."

"No, actually, you don't."

"I don't? Why not?"

"Just because her voice was legendary, Petunia, doesn't mean that it was beautiful."

Petunia laughed.

They had made good time in walking: they made it into a dune-filled land as they came level with the mountain range. A sliver of the sun was just visible above the horizon by that time, and Uncle Markas suggested they settle down for the night.

Petunia agreed, slumping down into the sand (a very strange substance, she thought, having never seen it before) and going to sleep almost immediately. Markas, however, tried to stay awake a bit longer as the night-watch, but sleep was pulling at the old mouse until finally, he too fell into a deep slumber.

As the two slept on, they were slowly surrounded. . . .

Over the past season, many of Petunia's dreams were filled with creatures from her past: Lily, Merola, Dakar, Ruri, the Roaming Whimsical Troupe, all of Noonvale, and most importantly, her sisters, Primrose and Pansy. Markas explained that sometimes a beast did dream about the lives they once had when first setting out on a new one.

Tonight the haremaid had such a dream, only it was about the very first skirmish she had ever been in, only this time, the rats and weasels were replaced by the ugliest-looking creatures she had ever encountered. She managed to recall that she'd seen sketches of such creatures, and that Ruri had informed her that they were called 'toads'.

_Toads_, thought Petunia. _What an ugly word. Toads . . . toads. . . ._

Toads.

Real toads. Real, slimy, hideous, greeny-brown toads. Surrounding her and Markas, all armed with three-pronged tridents.

All sleep fell from her as the haremaid jumped to her feet, jerking her sword from its sheath. "Eulaliaaaaaaaa!!"

The horrible little monsters jumped back, startled by her sudden actions. Uncle Markas also jerked awake, his eyes widening at the sight.

Petunia stepped in front of the old mouse, addressing the toads. "Keep back, you lot, or I'll slice you all up like apples!"

From out of the crowd of amphibians came the biggest of them all, and the ugliest, too. He was speckled all over, his throat bulging grotesquely.

"Grrok! This is our land, longears! Grrokk! Nobeast is allowed to stop here! You must both die! Rrrebb!"

"Now why should we die?" the haremaid countered. "We both meant no harm. We'll be on our way if you'd just let us pass–"

But she got no further as some of the toads made a rush at her. Startled, but reacting swiftly, Petunia ducked their tridents and swung upwards, knocking the toads off-balance. She made a swift kick into one while thrusting her sword at the other. Both toads fell, only to be trampled by the other toads trying to overcome the hare.

Markas suddenly appeared at his niece's side, armed and ready. Both hare and mouse slashed and stabbed at their opponents, blocking, ducking, roaring aloud.

"Hahaha! Give these little froggies a taste of your talent, Petunia!"

"Yeah, come and get it, lads! Eeeuuuullllaaaallliiiaaaa!"

"Glerb-glork!"

"Haha, we got 'em-arrgg!"

Petunia chanced a glance behind her and saw her uncle fall to ground. There was a red slash across his chest.

A sudden change came over the haremaid. Shock and anger spread through her system like wildfire. She suddenly felt herself moving faster and striking harder, felling even more toads as she charged over to her fallen uncle. No way was she going to let any of these horrid little monsters take him away from her–!

Without warning, a trident stabbed her in the leg.

Shrieking, Petunia ran her sword through the offending toad, but was not prepared for the two other toads that jumped on her back, bringing her down. Though she struggled furiously, the haremaid felt her pain-riddled, exhausted body begin to betray her and succumb to the toads' weight, when:

"EUUUULLLLAAAALLLLIIIIAAAA!"

That cry did not come from Petunia.

She heard the toads croak in alarm, and the ones on top of her gave way. Petunia was dimly aware of swift footpaws pounding on the earth, but her main focus was on the old mouse laying next to her. Crawling over, she pulled him into her lap so that he was laying face-up. The haremaid nearly gasped at the sight of blood on his chest.

The old mouse opened his eyes and managed a pained grin. "Did you get them, Petunia? Ah, I should've known you'd do it."

The haremaid was almost blind with tears. "No, I didn't. . . ."

"I say! Are you two alright?"

Petunia looked up, and found herself looking up into the face of what could only be a Long Patrol hare. How ironic, that the first time she should meet the creatures she admired for so long should take place when Uncle Markas. . . .

The hare suddenly took a full view of the old mouse. His eyes widened. "Oh no. Dewfleck! Come here, quick! One of them's hurt!"

The young haremaid laid her head against Markas's as another hare, an older female one, came jogging up, fumbling at a pouch at her side. Petunia suddenly felt rather faint. Perhaps it had to do with the leg-wound she acquired . . . better let the healer know about that . . . odd how it didn't hurt that much . . . it felt somewhat cold all of a sudden . . . was she perhaps delusional . . . ?

Just before she passed out, the young haremaid heard the healer-hare's words:

"The wound isn't very deep. He should be able to live."

_Oh good. That'll make sleep more peaceful._


	9. The Mountain

**Chapter 9**

After such a hellish night, Petunia found that she had slept rather soundly the next morning. She would forever wonder that she had been able to fight all those toads, especially after having precious little sleep and walking very long and hard all day. But none of that mattered right now. The only thing that concerned the haremaid was getting as much sleep as possible.

It was nice, sleeping in a bed like this. She hadn't done this for more than a season, not since she left Noonvale. It was all so nice and soft and warm and cozy . . . wait, she was sleeping in a bed?

The haremaid suddenly wanted to sit up and take assess of her new surroundings, but her eyes were just so firmly shut, and her body didn't want to leave its comfortable position! Petunia didn't know how long she laid there, unseeing and not moving. It was only when she suddenly became aware of somebeast else moving about in the room that the haremaid bothered to look up.

She was in a place most strange. What made it so strange was that all the walls were made of stone, something Petunia had never seen before. She had never seen so many beds in one place before either. They were all lined along the rocky walls, covered in blankets and pillows. There were also little tables between each bed, all furnished with a pitcher and some strange-smelling herbs. The haremaid had never imagined a place like this.

"Where am I?"

"In the sick bay of the Fire Mountain, better known as Salamandastron."

Petunia turned and beheld another hare. Like her, this hare was female, but older and had a motherly look about her.

"You look familiar," the younger hare said, furrowing her brow.

The older hare smiled. "That's because you saw me last night. I'm Dewfleck, one of the healers for the Long Patrol."

"Oh . . . wait a minute." Something hit Petunia like a large, heavy weight. "You're telling that I'm . . . that I'm . . . that we . . . we . . ." She gasped. "Uncle Markas! Where is he? Is he alright?" The haremaid began to struggle out of bed – and gasped again, only in pain.

Dewfleck was by her side in a flash, gently but firmly pressing Petunia back down. "Hold on now, missy. You're not going anywhere, not with the condition your leg is in, wot."

"But my uncle–!"

"Is perfectly alright," the older hare explained, setting her charge right. "The wound he acquired last night was not at all deep, just a flesh wound. I imagine he collapsed more from shock and exhaustion than from pain. I'm a little surprised that such an oldbeast was able to keep standing, given the bally condition he was in. But then again, there are plenty of hares around here that are like that as well."

Petunia relaxed, allowing herself to be tucked back in. "But where is he?" she asked, looking about the room. "Why isn't he here? And why can't I move my leg?" she added as an afterthought.

"You can't move it because it's in a flippin' splint, missy! Your leg got stabbed last night by one of the toads," Dewfleck explained. "You passed out too, by the way. Exhausted, just like your uncle."

"So where is my uncle?"

The older female hare sighed. "We tried to get the old chap to stay in bed, wot, but the old boy insisted to be let up, and that if we didn't release him he'd scream so loud he'd wake you up. And we didn't want that, so we let him have his way."

Petunia gave a faint chuckle. "I suppose he wanted to go and find Brigadier Crumworthy."

Dewfleck looked down at the younger hare with a furrowed brow. "Brigadier–? How do you know Brigadier Crumworthy?"

Petunia's eyes opened. "Why? Is he still alive?"

"Why – yes, but, how. . . .?"

Just then the sick bay door opened. In walked a cheerful-looking Markas (with his chest wrapped up in bandages), followed by a severe-looking old hare.

"Ah, good! You're awake!" Markas smiled at Petunia. "I want you to meet somebeast I've told many a tale about to you! Brigadier Starbob Crumworthy, I'd like you to meet my niece, Petunia!"

"Ah, so this is the young battleaxe, as you call her, eh? Pleasure, I'm sure," the old hare said, giving a smart bow to the haremaid.

Petunia stared, eyes wide and mouth open. She had tried imagining what the brigadier would look like in her head, but never would she have pictured him to be this fine a specimen:

Though old, the hare still stood tall, clad in a freshly-brushed tunic of scarlet and gilded gold. The buttons all down his front were brightly polished and copper. Crumworthy looked down at the haremaid through his gleaming monocle and twitched his bristling mustache. "So you're the lass who fought off a whole pack of wild toads last night, eh?"

Petunia blushed, suddenly shy. It didn't seem possible that the brave hare-warrior she'd heard so much about was standing right in front of her, giving her praise for her wretchedly under-trained skill!

"Oh, n-no," she murmured. "I, I didn't do it all m-my-s-self."

"Hah!" said Markas, sitting down next to his niece, slinging his arm around her shoulders. "Always modest. Crumworthy, if you'd have been there, you wouldn't have had to lift a finger! She would've beaten the whole lot of 'em for ye!"

"Oh, Uncle, stop!" whined Petunia, unable to look up, lest the brigadier see her red face.

"Really, sir," objected Dewfleck. "My patient needs rest, her leg has been stabbed through, and it's going to take some time for it to heal! Now if you don't mind?"

"But a patient is allowed to have company, right?" challenged Markas. "Come on, Crumworthy! Take a seat and let's all have a nice chat."

"Yes, yes," the old harewarrior chuckled, placing a chair next to the bed. "Sounds lovely, old boy. So Petunia. Your uncle tells me you're wantin' to join the ranks, eh? Want to become a Long Patroller?"

Petunia wanted to tell the brigadier about how she always wanted to be a Long Patroller ever since she first heard of it, about how she always fantasized about being in it, about how she'd always pester anybeast who knew about the fighting hares for tales and stories of them!

But the haremaid was so overawed by Brigadier Crumworthy's regal appearance that she completely lost all sense and control of her tongue, and she suddenly felt very silly and unworthy.

Markas, however, saw the situation as humorous. "Ah, she's shy! She's always been shy, from what I've been told. But don't let that fool you, Crum! I've seen her fight more than toads! She's fought off rats and foxes, and once, she outsmarted a group of weasels! She's a wonder, this one is!"

_Oh, stop, stop!_ Petunia mentally told her uncle. Why should she start acting like a helpless maid when it mattered the most not to? And why must Uncle Markas keep harping on about all those misadventures they had on the way here? And just why did all those misadventures seem so stupid and boring now? They hadn't been that way when she had lived through them! Maybe it was because little skirmishes didn't match up to what Brigadier Crumworthy had been through. Surely they wouldn't impress him. Oh why, why, _why?_

* * *

Despite her embarrassment, a trickle of gleeful excitement managed to slowly sink its way into the haremaid's system.

_This can't be happening, this really can't be happening!_

And yet it was. She was here, at Salamandastron, among the very creatures she adored for as long as she could remember: the Long Patrol! It felt strange, getting something after wanting it for so long. It was also rather frightening.

First off, there was Brigadier Starbob Crumworthy. Though he had a rough air about him, and had the finest appearance Petunia had ever seen, he was always very sweet and gentle towards her. But that made the haremaid worry that he thought her weak and doubted if she could ever join the Long Patrol. Petunia knew that would be the hardest (and worst) obstacle to overcome to obtain her opportunity. And she began to resent Uncle Markas whenever he would brag about his niece's skill; did he really have to tell those stories while she lay there in bed, lame and helpless?

She also found herself resenting her own shyness. Every time Brigadier Crumworthy would turn to look at her or speak to her, she'd turn red and lose all control of her tongue, which would hang limply in her mouth. Hardly soldier-material.

Dewfleck was nice, though. Though a bit severe about breaking the sick bay rules, the harewife tended to Petunia's leg with great skill and care. She also proved to be good company, as she was not a legendary fighter like Crumworthy. Petunia felt more able to communicate with her, and ask her questions about the mountain.

It was two days after their arrival that Dewfleck finally allowed Petunia to leave the sick bay, provided that she walked with a cane. The haremaid suddenly had a flashback of Dakar, when he first came to her family back in Noonvale: he too had hurt his leg and had to walk about with a cane. Petunia suddenly felt closer to the warriormouse who had taught her how to wield a sword.

"You chose the perfect time to get out of bed," Markas grinned as he led his niece and Dewfleck down a rocky tunnel (the haremaid was astounded at Salamandastron's structure). "It's the hares' midday meal. Most everybeast will be there, you'll be able to make some friends."

That certainly hadn't occurred to Petunia, that she'd have to converse with other youngbeasts while here. She had never been very good at that sort of thing, making new friends. It had been different with Dakar: he was wounded and needed help. Plus the mouse was a warrior, which naturally intrigued her.

But when it came to simply walking up to a beast and making conversation, that had never been Petunia's strong-point. And she'd be among creatures who'd grown up on the mountain, who'd be in the Long Patrol probably their whole lives! The haremaid knew she was doomed where friend-making was concerned.

Her fears were only confirmed when she entered a cavern called "the mess hall." There were several tables lined up, much like how the feasts were set up at the Council Lodge. Only instead of all the familiar faces she was used to, the room was filled with hares, all loud and slightly rambunctious.

Dewfleck put a paw on Petunia's shoulder. "If you're still not feeling well, you're welcome to go back to the sick bay."

"Don't be silly!" Markas said. "She's fine. And besides," he added to Petunia. "It'll do you good to get out of your shell. Warriors can't afford to be shy."

Suppressing a grimace and a groan, the haremaid squared her shoulders and set down the rows of tables, searching for a place to sit. As she walked by, many of the hares looked up and stared. Petunia felt their gazes like scorching sword-pricks. It seemed so strange to feel out of place among creatures of her own species. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to be back up in the solitude of the sick bay.

But she kept on going, looking for an open seat. The haremaid gripped her cane tighter, hoping that she wasn't showing any nerves. Hardly the first impression she wanted to give her fellow hares.

"I say, would you like to sit with us?"

Petunia blinked and turned in the voice's direction. At first she wasn't sure if the male hare had spoken to her. But there was nobeast behind her, so he must be.

"Um, yes, thank you." The haremaid settled down next to him, taking in his appearance.

The male hare was like many of his comrades: tall, lanky, clad in a sand-colored smock, with a carefree look about his youthful features. He smiled, extending his paw. "Hello! Name's Foghill. What's yours?"

"Petunia," was the murmured reply.

"Petunia, eh? Not the sort of name I'd give the gel who beat the blinkin' daylights out o' a band of slimy toads!"

The haremaid blinked. "Oh, you . . . know about that?"

"Know it? Hah! The whole mountain is talking about it! You're a legend around here! I've got a bet that you'll end up being one of the most renowned hares in the mountain's history!"

Maybe her stay here wouldn't be so bad after all.


	10. The Fight

**Chapter 10**

"Let's see, there's Porter over there," Foghill said, pointing out his fellow hares to Petunia. "And that's Quincy, Tarker, Thyme, Rosemary, Willow, Borquin, Ballaw, Clary, and this one is called Fatbelly!"

"Is not!" the tubby male hare sitting next to Foghill shouted. "My name is Frebaly, miss," he said with dignity to Petunia, who couldn't suppress a smile.

"Not much of a difference," Foghill commented airily, taking a sip from his cup.

"Shut up!" Frebaly snapped, elbowing Foghill in the gut, causing the other hare to gag.

"Augh! Cough, hey! I say! You made me spill some perfectly good cordial there, you rotter! Oh, that does it! As soon as the rest of this tucker is gone, I challenge you to a good boxing match, wot!"

"You're on, skinny one!"

Petunia could tell it was just playful banter between the two: it was like that all the time with her sisters. She was slowly beginning to feel like she was home. Everybeast was friendly and rambunctious, teasing but not cruel, much like how it was in Noonvale. Although she was still a little taken aback by the others challenging each other to duels and matches - not even The Roaming Whimsical Troupe had been like that.

"So that's all of us," Foghill said, turning back to Petunia, who wasn't certain if she could recall half of the names she had been given. "So what about y'self, eh? We've heard lots of tales about you, you're something of a legendary warrior to us."

"I am?" Petunia asked, even more taken aback.

"Well, yes," Foghill answered, laughing. "Life here can get pretty dull after awhile, what with marches and parades and regimental balls and whatnot; and when a mysterious maid is brought here in the dead of night with a wounded companion who tells of nothing except all of her marvelous exploits, she's bound to become the talk of the mountain."

"Oh, that's my uncle," Petunia began, but was interrupted by another hare.

"Uncle? He looked like a mouse to me."

"He's my adoptive uncle," Petunia explained (what was his name? She couldn't recall for now). "My parents died when I was a baby, and Uncle Markas was the only creature around, so he took me and my sisters in. Er, my sisters are adoptive, too," she added quickly.

"So you grew in an orphanage, eh?" Foghill asked, raising his eyebrows. "A lot of the greatest warriors have backstories like that!"

"Well, it really wasn't an orphanage," Petunia said, blushing a little. "I mean, it was really just a house with all of us. Nothing really interesting happened to me while I was growing up, except in the past few seasons."

"Well then tell us about that, then," smiled Foghill.

The haremaid looked around at all the eager young faces peering at her. "I hardly know where to begin."

"Try starting at the beginning, me gel."

Petunia laughed. "Alright, fine! Well, I guess it all started when a troupe called The Roaming Whimsical Troupe came to our village. They were led by this old hare-lady by the name of Madam Breeze, and–"

"I say! You met Madam Breeze?" Foghill cried.

Several of the hares at the table suddenly leaned forward, looking far more intrigued.

"Why – yes," Petunia stammered.

"Well I'll be boggled!"

"We all grew up hearing about her, but we all figured she was just a legend!"

"Tell me, what was she like?"

"Was she as good a dancer as they say she was?"

"Er, I suppose," the haremaid said to the last question. "I can't really be sure, because I never saw her dance. But she did give me and my sisters dancing lessons though – though they were wasted on me. I was a terrible student. Never had much to do with the stage anyway. But my sisters excelled better than me, especially Pansy. She was always the dancer of the family."

"Was she?" asked one of the other hares. "Why didn't she come here with you?"

"Because she's not a hare," Petunia explained. "I said my sisters were adoptive, didn't I? Pansy's a squirrel."

"Oh I see."

"Well, but I say!" said another hare. "Being able to stand on the same ground as the legendary Madam Breeze!"

A third hare piped up. "They say she was once a Long Patrol hare, but ended up leaving the mountain because she preferred performing to fighting."

"Well, I was the opposite," said Petunia. "I preferred fighting to performing, and that's when Dakar came into the picture."

"Who's Dakar?"

"He's a warrior-mouse. He ended up marrying Uncle Markas's niece, Lily. She took care of us while Uncle Markas was away. Anyway, Dakar was a bit of a retired warrior, and decided to give me private lessons in sword-fighting, even though Lily and Merola (she's a badger) didn't really like the idea at first. But it came in handy when Uncle Markas came home from his travelings, because just before he came into the village, he was captured by a group of vermin. Me and Dakar happened to be looking for Pansy that one night, and we happened on the scene."

"I say! Did you beat up the confounded blighters up for nabbing yer nunky?" one of the hares inquired, looking excited by the tale.

Petunia began to realize her life was more exciting than she gave it credit for. "You bet I did! Of course Dakar helped, and there weren't very many of them, but we defeated the vermin soundly! Heh, I recall vomiting afterwards."

The hares laughed. "That's a pretty common occurrence after such a feat. Don't feel bad about it!"

"I don't. But after we brought Markas home, Pansy, who had already made it home, announced that she was leaving the village with the Troupe. The Troupe wanted to leave because Madam Breeze had . . . well, passed away."

"What?" gasped the young hares. "How did she die?"

"She was old," Petunia shrugged. "But Pansy told us that she died happy and fulfilled, and her son Ferdinand took over the Troupe."

"Whoa, she had a son?"

"Yes," replied the haremaid.

"I never knew she had any children! Who was her husband?"

"I – don't know," Petunia said, realizing that she had never before wondered who Ferdinand's father was. "Nobeast ever said anything about that, and I guess it never occurred to me to ask."

"But your sister went off the Troupe?" asked another hare.

"Yes," Petunia nodded. "She and my other sister, Primrose, went off with the Troupe because they were so talented in dancing and acting, and, since they were leaving, I decided to leave as well and head here to become a Long Patroller."

"Well!" said Foghill. "Certainly a glorious tale! Full of adventure and drama, I must say! Imagine, growing up in a family where nobeast is the same species as you! Oh, by the way, that other sister of your's, uh, Primrose was it? Is she a mouse? Or a mole?"

"Neither. She's a ferret."

"A ferret? You grew up in a house with _vermin?"_

Petunia turned and looked at the speaker: a tall, broad-shouldered male hare.

"I'll thank you not to refer to my sister as 'vermin', sir," the haremaid replied coolly.

The male, however, snorted. "Why not? That's what she is. That's what they all are. Vermin, seascum, bounders, whatever you call 'em. And here you are, thinking you could actually be one of us when you've grown up in the same sludge as some stinking ferret. Huh, some warrior!"

Foghill and some of the other hares began to speak out against the large male hare, but they were silenced when Petunia stood up.

A strange feeling had passed over the haremaid. She had felt anger before, but not anger of this kind. It seemed like there was a strange sort of fog or smoke in her chest, while her stomach writhed and squashed itself. A very slight trembling had come over her shoulders, and her jaw tightened.

Never before had anybeast denounced a member of Petunia's family, nor expressed contempt for the haremaid's skill or her dream to be a Long Patroller. Of all things dearest to her, it was those three things that the male hare had verbally attacked.

Her paws curled into fists, and she spoke, staring straight into his dark arrogant eyes. "I challenge you to a duel. After lunch. No, right now. I want to get this over with and . . . and . . . show you a thing or two!"

All hares watching stared with wide eyes and open mouths, and they turned to the male hare, who smirked and leaned back in his seat.

"Show me a thing or two? A wounded beast who's had scant training in her life? I wouldn't waste my time."

"I'm afraid you'll have to."

The hare gave a jump, realizing that Brigadier Crumworthy was standing right behind him. The old hare looked down at the younger one with a face that was both solemn and frightening.

"To insult a creature in such a way and then refuse to allow them to defend themselves is a most dishonorable thing, not to mention very unfitting for a Long Patroller. Accept the haremaid's challenge, or you'll have me to deal with."

Now everybeast in the hall was watching.

The male hare eyed the brigadier warily, glanced at Petunia, then back at Crumworthy . . . and finally nodded.

* * *

"Go on, Petunia! Show the blaggard what ya've got!"

"Show 'er what yer made of, Koric!"

"Don't let the big brute talk like that to you, missy! Show 'im who's boss!"

Already part of Petunia was beginning to regret challenging the male hare, Koric. He was _huge_, broad-shouldered and muscular, long-limbed and agile-looking. He also seemed more than able to wield a sword. As for Petunia. . . .

The haremaid was not the tallest of creatures, giving her a shorter reach, and there was her wounded leg to take into account. She still had to lean on her cane as she saluted Koric with her own sword. Petunia noticed that the male was eyeing her support scornfully. Obviously he thought she'd be easy game – and Petunia supposed he was right.

"Don't let him talk that way about you and your sister! Remember how much Primrose loves you!"

Petunia glanced in the last voice's direction: Uncle Markas was watching from the crowds, his fist raised in the air, and the haremaid felt a great wave of affection for him. She couldn't let him down, not now . . . not ever. She had to win this for him. And for Primrose, who, as Markas pointed out, had loved Petunia all her life as though they were really sisters, with whom Petunia had shared her fondest memories with, who had never done any harm to anybeast. . . .

. . . and she had to win this for Brigadier Crumworthy, who had clearly expressed his faith in her abilities in getting Koric to accept her challenge. . . .

"_Euuulllaaalaiaaa!"_

Petunia hardly had time limp out of the way as Koric came charging at her. She stuck out her cane, tripping the male hare so that he went scut over ears onto the floor.

The crowd laughed, and Koric jumped to his feet, red in the face. "And who taught you that?" he sneered, pointing his sword-point at her. "Your vermin-sister, eh?"

That strange anger overtaking her, Petunia raised her sword in her one paw and struck out, only to be skillfully blocked. Swift as lighting, the haremaid raised her cane and drove it into Koric's belly.

"_Oof!"_ The male stepped back, clutching his gut.

Petunia swung her sword again, trying to disarm him, but Koric dodged and parried once again. Grunting in anger, Petunia stabbed and swung again, yet the male hare somehow found it easy to repel her.

_Never be too eager to attack your opponent,_ came Dakar's calming instructions.

Keeping that in mind, Petunia left off, backing away, realizing she could tire herself out – which she was already doing.

Koric slumped his broad shoulders, giving that infuriatingly contemptuous smile despite his heavy breathing. "What's the matter, vermin-lover? You give up?"

"No," Petunia replied, trying to think of a stinging insult to throw back. "I'm tired of being the one doing all the attacks. Why don't _you_ try attacking again?"

Koric shook his head. "I don't think you really want me to do that."

The haremaid actually considered his words, and realized she really wouldn't want that bulk to come boring down on her. She'd have to think of another way to defeat him.

_Every creature has a weakness. You just have to find it._

Petunia's quick mind went about seeking this... and had some difficulty. She knew that she couldn't go on attacking, he was too good at defending; and she'd only end up exhausting herself. She then realized that only chance she had was to have him come at her. As much as she didn't want to, she would have to have him charge her.

"What's the matter?" she called in a taunting manner that she thought reminiscent of Pansy. "You afraid of a little vermin-lover?"

"I warned you."

And with that, Koric's large bulk was zooming towards her, wielding his blade like lightning.

Without thinking, Petunia dropped to the floor and kicked out with her non-wounded leg, her wounded one stinging with pain.

Fortunately, she managed to kick Koric in a very painful area, causing the male hare to drop his sword and collapse in a fetal position on the floor.

Knowing she had little time before he could recover, Petunia, ignoring her protesting leg, drove her elbow into the male's belly, winding him. Scrambling on the floor, the haremaid seized Koric's fallen sword with one paw while her other jerked his head backwards by his ears.

"How'd you like that . . . _vermin?"_ she spat, loathing everything about him. He glared back up, equally loathing. But he made no move to fight back, being too . . . injured.

The crowd went wild with applause, and Petunia found herself being carefully brought back to her feet. She was surrounded by Uncle Markas ("You did it, Petunia! You did it! I knew you would, I just knew you would! Oh, if only Primrose had been here to see that!"), Foghill ("I say, you certainly lived up to your reputation, missy! Defeating a chap who's way bigger'n you, and you with only one good leg to stand on! Good show, wotwot!"), Dewfleck ("Honestly, if I'd known this was going to happen, I never would've allowed you out of the sickbay in the first place! Well, that does it! You're going back to the sickbay this instant, and you're not coming out until you're fully healed, you hear me? No arguments!"), and Brigadier Crumworthy – who smiled and said the most wonderful words the young haremaid had ever heard: "We're so lucky to have such a talented new recruit."


	11. Another Play

************

**Chp 11**

The Roaming Whimsical Troupe was putting on another act for the Redwallers:

This time it was a comedy play written by Spike, featuring Rogak as an otter who dreamed of becoming a renowned warrior, but sadly lacked any of the required skills. And yet, as the story went on, he suddenly found himself the center of attention when he pulled a stunt that made himself look like a hero. Things were going good for Rogak's character - until a band vermin thieves came to town. Rogak was sent by the townsfolk to deal with the vermin, only to be captured and locked up.

Primrose herself also had a role in this play, this time playing the part of one of the vermin bandits. Her character was one of the lowlier members who was trying desperately to please her boss (played by Ferdinand, who also played the village-leader).

"Arr, c'mon, matey! 'Ave an 'eart!" Rogak whined, completely tied up with ropes. "Why don't yew jus' let me go? It's not like I'm gonna try to defeat you lot anymore, I'm jus' gonna run off an' never come back!"

"No!" snapped Primrose, looking every inch a vermin bandit. "Me boss says that you's supposed t'be tied up, an' tha's th' way it's supposed t'be! 'Sides, why would a great warrior like yew go runnin' off, eh?"

Arrrr," the big otter whined. "I never was a warrior, it was jus' an accident, but I wanted so much t'be famous an' such, I jus' let me fellows go on believing that I was a hero! You must know what that's like, wantin' to be well respected an' such. C'mon, I'd let you go if'n you were in my position! Pleeeeze?"

"Doh, alright! If'n it'll mean tha' I won't have t'listen t'you cringin' an' whinin' all th' time!" Primrose snarled, stalking over and untying Rogak.

The big otter leaped up, stretching his limbs luxuriously. "Arrgg, now that's the stuff!"

"WAIT A MINUTE!" screeched Primrose.

Rogak jumped. "AUGH!"

"WOT AM I DOING?" the ferretmaid went on, hurrying back at the otter, flailing the ropes around. "I gotta get yew tied back up!"

"What?" Rogak jumped back. "You jus' let me go!"

"I know, but if'n me boss comes back an' sees that yer gone he'll know that it wos me who let you go an' I'm gonna get me 'ead chopped off! C'mere!" And with that, the ferret made a grab at the otter's arm, trying to loop the ropes back around it.

"Ahaha, no you don't!" Rogak countered, trying to push her away. However, as he was playing the part of an otter who wasn't all that strong or skilled, Rogak couldn't use any of the skills he'd normally use (plus he didn't believe in hitting pretty ladies).

"Oh yes I do!" Primrose shouted, locking her arm around his neck while her other arm tried to wrap the ropes back on.

The audience of abbeybeasts laughed heartily at the comical scene.

"Arrgh, get offa me! Get offa me! NO! I am not–"

"Yes you are! Now grrr-gr! Grraarrrggg!"

"Augh, ugh, grrraa-!"

"THERE! AHA!"

Rogak looked down at himself: she had only succeeded in tying his arm to a nearby table. "Oh yeah, this is much better," he spat.

"Look, jus' let me tie you back up!" Primrose pleaded, wringing her paws.

"No!"

"I'll- I'll- I'll give you whatever yew whatever yew wants!"

"NO!"

The otter gave a violent jerk to the table - and the ferret leaped upon him with more ropes.

Within mere moments, Primrose and Rogak performed an act that they took great pains to perfect during rehearsals: they became entwined with one another, Primrose on Rogak's back.

The audience roared with laughter.

Bluebell leaned sideways towards Dren, "Its very funny, isn't it?"

The male ferret shrugged; he was the only creature who hadn't laughed out loud. In fact, he had barely even smiled throughout the whole act.

"Absolutely entertaining," Marek remarked, sitting on Bluebell's other side. His paw rested on the mousemaid's knee - and was lightly brushed away.

"Yes, it is," Bluebell answered shortly, keeping her eyes on the performance.

* * *

Once the play was over, the cast was met with waves of applause - and even more laughter when Rogak, tied up again, was dragged out by a grinning Primrose.

Afterwards, the Troupe sat down to another splendid dinner set out by the Redwallers. The travelling performers were still in shock at the vastness and the grandness of the food that appeared at every mealtime. Of course, Noonvale was abundant with food as well, but even so...

"Goodness, I haven't laughed that much in I don't know how long!" the abbot said to Ferdinand; the two had struck up a good friendship.

"Thank you, Father Abbot," the hare replied heartily, piling his plate with as many puddings and salads and pies and stews as he could. "Course it was all written by our wonderful magician, Spike. Directed by me, of course, wot!"

"Oh, Primrose, over here!" Bluebell waved the ferretmaid over before any of the eager young males could ask her to sit with them. "That was a wonderful performance! I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard."

"Thank you," Primrose smiled, though a part of her was very wary: usually whenever Bluebell called her over, Dren was close by, and the mousemaid was always trying to get the two ferrets to talk to each other.

Had Primrose any of her old enthusiasm at meeting another ferret, she would've gladly accepted the opportunity. Now, however, she had no desire whatsoever to be near Dren, let alone talk to him.

The male ferret was handsome, true enough, but his sour attitude detracted greatly from his looks. Never before had Primrose met a more disagreeable creature: always giving short, contemptuous answers, clearly displaying a dislike for just about everything about him; and how anybeast could have such a disposition in a place like Redwall was beyond the ferretmaid's comprehension.

"Dren certainly smiled a lot during your performance in particular, didn't you, Dren?"

Dren didn't look up from his plate, gobbling down his meal. Primrose, getting used to the male's surly attitude, sniffed and prettily accepted a salad from a young mole who blushed at her smile.

"Now, come on, Dren," Bluebell urged. "I know you smiled at least once during the performance. I think it was when you tied Rogak up, Primrose. And I - oh dear, would you two excuse me?" She hurried off to help a young mouse on kitchen duty with a particularly large and heavy cake.

Primrose barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Bluebell's convienient exit.

For a second, things were silent between the two ferrets. Then:

"It isn't like that."

The ferretmaid blinked and turned towards Dren. "What?"

"That isn't how it is in a vermin horde."

"...its just a play," Primrose shrugged.

"All the same, that isn't how it is in a vermin horde."

"...and you would know that, because?"

"Because I was in one," Dren spat, ruthlessly tearing into a roll.

"Oh."

Primrose really had no idea what to say. This was the first time the male ferret had come out of shell, and he revealed something that the female hadn't expected to find.

* * *

After she help set the large cream-and-strawberry-covered cake down, Bluebell stole a look over at Dren and Primrose. The two actually looked like they were in conversation! Feeling a swoop of triumph, the mousemaid allowed herself a small smile to reflect her feelings. Finally, _finally _those two were getting over their shyness; now it was only a matter of time, and Dren would have a friend (and possibly more) to talk to!

Suddenly a strong paw laid itself on her arm. "That cake looks lovely, Bluebell. Did you make it?"

The mousemaid turned to see Marek's handsome face. "Oh. Uh, no, actually, I believe that's one of Friar-"

"Well I'm sure you'd like a piece," the male mouse interrupted, smiling as he tried to guide her to the seat next to him.

"Actually, I already have a place over-"

"Oh, I'm sure you wouldn't want to interrupt their conversation."

"Pardon?"

"Dren and Primrose. They look so happily in conversation, it'd be a shame to break them up. Ahh, young romance," Marek drawled, encircling his muscular arm about her slender waist.

Trapped, Bluebell forced a smile and allowed Marek to place her in the seat next to him - though for a moment she thought he was going to have her sit in his lap.

* * *

Primrose glanced over in Bluebell's direction, and saw that she was sitting with the handsome mouse she had met on her first night at the abbey. What was his name? Ah, Marek. He certainly was handsome, and judging by the way he couldn't unwrap his arm from around Bluebell's waist, ready to propose.

The ferretmaid smiled; seeing that reminded her of Lily and Dakar. She hoped that Bluebell and Marek ended up as happy as her adoptive parents. But then again, how could anybeast not be happy in Red...

...her train of thought slowed as she looked back over at Dren's hunched, surly form.

Oh right. Well, maybe just one exception.

* * *

Meanwhile, Pansy was sitting amongst a group of youngbeasts, laughing and chatting as they guzzled down strawberry fizz and caught nuts in their mouths.

"I can out-catch walnuts and acorns better'n any of you any day!" the squirrelmaid proclaimed, almost spilling her tankard.

"Mind your manners!" Merola called, wagging her claw. "Ooohhh my, but life is good here. I do hope Ferdinand decides to stay here all winter," she spoke aloud, not to anybeast in particular.

"I think the abbot would welcome your troupe to stay for the rest of your lives," said a voice next to the badgerwife.

Merola turned and saw a squirrel sitting next to her. She hadn't noticed this squirrel before; she looked to be in her middle seasons, and even though her fur was red, it looked faded and gray. Her tail was limp, and her eyes, though kind and smiling, were weary and withered.

"Thank you, I should like that," the badgerwife replied. She stuck out her paw. "Now I don't think I've met you yet, though there are so many beasts living here..."

"I am Daira," the squirrel introduced herself, accepting the badger's paw (Merola was careful not to squeeze). "I only came to the abbey less than half a season ago. I plan to live out the winter here, and then make my exit in the spring."

"Oh really? Then you're one of those travelling types?" Merola was surprised at the idea of this gray, fragile-looking, washed out squirrel travelling great distances.

"You can say that. I just go from one place to the other, not caring which direction I take or where I end up. Its all the same to me."

The way Daira spoke was slightly unnerving; there was something... _defeated_ about her. Like any sparkle or zest for life she had had been beaten out of her.

"Have you any family?" the badger inquired.

The squirrel was silent for a moment, and Merola could've sworn she saw a strange glimmer under her eyelashes.

"No," she finally said. "No, I haven't any."

* * *

Marek couldn't believe his good fortune.

Finally, _finally_ Bluebell was taking notice of him! Though he couldn't understand why she hadn't sooner; he was strong, handsome, in fact, many abbeybeasts had compared him to Martin the Warrior! Only he wasn't the Abbey Champion - or at least not yet. He knew that the position of Abbey Champion was chosen by the spirit of Martin, and most usually he chose his successor during times of need.

Of course, there had been other, smaller times of need, and strangely enough, it had been Skipper that Martin had called upon.

Marek didn't know why Skipper of all creatures should be called on by Martin; the otter was nothing but a fat, lazy oaf! But no matter, his time would come. Marek would become Abbey Champion someday, just as he would wed the lovely Bluebell someday.

So for now, he would just have to be patient.


	12. The Tales of Lord Brangal and Koric

****

Chp 12

It was hard to say whether Petunia's stay at Salamandastron was anything like what she expected.

In some ways, it was like what she expected: there were plenty of lessons in combat training and the mountain's history (she had actually been hoping for this rather than expecting it, for she was voracious about history, especially about her new mountainous home). It was far more militant than life in Noonvale, much less casual than traveling, and there were tons of hares.

But there were other aspects which the haremaid hadn't expected: Aside from sword-training, she had to learn scouting, lancing, running, drills, stealth, and camouflage, not to mention regimental ballroom etiquette (Petunia was stunned that there were balls held at Salamandastron; banquets were understandable, but balls? And it could be well said that the haremaid was quite disappointed when she had to learn ladylike behaviour and mannerisms; she'd been hoping to escape all that nonsense and leave it with Noonvale and Merola!).

Foghill helped her where the ballroom was concerned; the lanky hare wasn't as good as she when it came to sword-jousting, but he was an exceptional dancer, not to mention he had a firm grasp on mannerisms, so he and Petunia gave each other lessons and pointers about the two subjects.

"Ugh, I hate dancing, I just hate it!"

"Ah, stop your complainin', missy! Its just one evening out of every two or three seasons of your life from now on, wotwot!"

"Huh! If ever I get to be a commanding officer I shall refuse ever to dance or even appear at any silly old ball! They can beg, plead, threaten and whine all they like, I refuse to dance at all in the future!"

"Its amazing that sombeast as talented as you are with the sword can find the art of dancing so distasteful."

"What's so strange about it? Sword-fighting, its... its just you and your guts and only your weapon to defend you, that and your skills, whereas with dancing, its all pointless awkwardness and uncomfortable dresses that you have to keep clean, no matter what! And I hate trying to keep my clothes clean because they always get dirty again!"

Foghill laughed, dipping his sour-faced partner. "Ah, poor you."

"Yes, poor me. Oh, but if only this were a time for battling corsairs and ravagers. Then I'd be able to use the sword more often!"

"Ah," said Foghill as he expertly twirled Petunia, who clumsily tripped over her own two footpaws. "Ah, you sound like a true Blademaster - totally bloodthirsty!"

"And proud of it!" the haremaid proclaimed. "Alright then," she said, taking her paw from the male, "I think that's enough dancing practice, for one thing. Now let's get to the _fun_ stuff!"

Foghill barely suppressed a groan as Petunia eagerly fished out a pair of fencing swords. True, he did enjoy learning from such a talented swordsbeast, and Petunia was a good teacher, but she was still a very aggressive creature to go up against.

"Go easy on me this time, I nearly lost my poor fingers last we crossed swords! I've gotta keep these little darlings to eat me precious meals with, wot!"

"Oh, don't be such a baby," was all Petunia said before she tossed him his sword and moved forward.

"AUGH! Eee! Yeek! OW! Whoa! Augh, stoppit!"

"Gotta be careful about surprise attacks, Foggy! Never trust your opponent!"

"Not even when its somebeast who's supposed to be me confounded bally friend, eh?"

"Well, not if its somebeast who likes to show off."

"You - AUGH - never seemed the - EEK - show off type, doncha know. AUGH!"

"I don't know - gotcha! - ever since I've come here I feel like I've come into my own. Like I've finally - watch yourself - become I'm meant to be! I'm finally home! I finally have my own life!"

"Yes, good for y-YEEEEK!"

* * *

Yes, Petunia really had come into her own at the mountain. Back in Noonvale, Petunia had always been the quiet, shy, studious one; the one who always tried Merola's patience when it came to taking care of her clothes or acting like a lady should; the one who foolishly dreamed of swords and battles, who was plain and dull, who wasn't anything special or would amount to anything other than possibly a scholar.

But here at Salamandastron...

Petunia found herself speaking out more, behaving in a more outgoing manner. Her dreams of swords and battles were not deemed foolish but rather encouraged; she was no longer dull and just a studious scholar, but rather an exciting warrior-in-training!

True, some of the things from her old life had not changed: she was still plain, and easily the ugliest female on the whole mountain. And she found that, while she was at perfect liberty to tear and ruin the sand-colored smocks the hares wore as everyday use, she was forbidden to stain or rent any uniform she was given. Plus she was also expected to keep her sword and other weapons in mint condition, a factor that quite irked her.

But other than that, life at the fire mountain was certainly fulfilling.

Uncle Markas was certainly enjoying his time at the mountain as well. He enjoyed sitting out on the sand as he watched Petunia and the other young hares train. Petunia enjoyed calling out to him, "Lazy old thing! Just laugh it up, why don't cha? Getting to sit there all nice an' comfortable while us poor leverets have to sweat it out!"

"When you get to be my age," the old mouse would holler back, "you can laze about all you want!"

The young hares were quite fascinated with Markas, as he was filled with countless stories of heroic adventures and old songs. He even held his own when it came to mealtimes, much to the other hares' admiration. (Petunia, it might be noted, who had never really had much of an appetite before, found herself quite ravenous whenever she sat down at the table.)

Petunia was slightly jealous of all the attention her adoptive uncle was getting, but all the same was glad to see that he was getting the respect he deserved from her comrades. Besides, the haremaid found herself more and more intrigued by Brigadier Crumworthy.

The Brigadier was easily the most elegant figure on the mountain, well-respected by every hare, and the unofficial current leader of Salamandastron - until a Badger Lord came to rule.

"Its been some time since we had a Badger Lord," Crumworthy remarked to Petunia while the two were out watching the sun set.

Petunia practically squirmed with glee that she was alone with one of her many heroes. She had just finished with her daily training but opted to skip out on supper when she noticed the brigadier standing alone on the beach. At first she was afraid he might not welcome her company (before she had acted a complete fool in front of him and only recently learned how to use her tongue when in his presence), but instead he smiled when he noticed her and began a conversation with some small talk.

"Was there... has there ever been one on the mountain in your time?" Petunia asked, her ears reddening.

"Yes," the elder hare nodded. "When I was young, about your age, actually. Lord Brangal of the Ironclaws, they called him. Wielded a pike, he did, only there were plenty of times he just used his claws." He chuckled. "I still shudder when I remember that. He died in battle, just like any Badger Lord wished to go. Dying peacefully in bed was not for him."

"How did it happen?" Petunia wanted to know.

"Oh, it was much like any great battle you'd expect a Badger Lord's last one would be. A whole fleet of corsair ships came in, dozens of them. One of their messengers came ashore and demanded that we surrender, or perish under the wrath of his pirate-lord."

"And Lord Brangal refused?"

"Well, what'd you expect?" snorted Crumworthy. "Heh heh, anyway, the old boy dressed himself up in that spiked armor of his, had all the old ones and leverets gathered in the secret safety tunnels, and sent out a small number of Runners to find any Guosim or otter tribes or squirrel tribes that would be willing to lend a paw to help. The rest of us followed Lord Brangal out to face the foe.

"And oh, my, did you ever see such a sight."

"The badger's bloodwrath?" Petunia asked.

"Yes, but it was that combined with just how many vermin there were. You recall the tale of the Blue Hordes of Ungatt Trunn, how there were so many they covered the entire beach? I'm pretty certain that horde was almost as large."

Petunia gave a small whistle.

"But Lord Brangal refused to be daunted," Crumworthy continued. "In fact, I never saw him look more sure of himself in all the time I knew him. He just simply charged out there among the vermin, and next thing I knew they were either falling or flying, depending on whether he hit them or threw them. The sight of it kept flashing before my eyes in the weeks following."

"Did the Runners ever return with help?"

"Oh yes. A fleet of shrews and sea otters came around on the other side of vermins' ships, and some squirrels and river otters came to back us up. Eventually most of the vermin were slain but there were those who surrendered and were sent away under pain of death. But those weren't dealt with until after we saw to Lord Brangal.

"The old boy was still alive when we found him on the beach, all cut up and surrounded by his foes. I don't recall if he managed to slay the pirate-lord or not, or if somebeast else found him, but Lord Brangal finished up almost half of the lot all by himself.

"I'll never forget his dying words..."

Petunia waited to hear the lord words of Lord Brangal, but Crumworthy made no sound. She looked up at the brigadier, and noticed that his eyes looked watery... and slightly confused.

"Sah?" she asked.

Crumworthy gave a start, and hastily pasted a smile on. "Er- ah, sorry about that, me gel. Just thinking about some things."

It was then that Petunia realized the brigadier was not about to reveal what it was that Lord Brangal had said... yet.

The young haremaid sighed. "That's alright. Well, I suppose I better be going..."

"Oh, one more thing, young un!"

"Yes?"

"About Koric..."

Petunia's brow lowered. If there was one thing she absolutely did not like about Salamandastron, it was Koric. She could put up with dancing and being ladylike, but _Koric..._

"Please don't be too hard on him."

The haremaid blinked. "I'm sorry... _what?"_

The brigadier sighed. "I understand your - dislike for him, but please be patient with him, or at least try to be."

"I'm sorry, sah, but-"

"Hear me out before you go writin' anybeast off, now."

"...Yes, sah."

"I know you think Koric has no right to immediately judge your... sister the way he did."

Petunia noticed how Crumworthy said "sister", and immediately wondered if he thought it was strange (and wrong) for her to call a ferret "family."

"And its true, he has no right to, because I myself have known a few honest vermin in my lifetime, but... its hard for Koric to understand that."

Petunia relaxed a bit, and waited to hear what was supposedly Koric's side of the story.

"Koric grew up in a slave encampment. He never knew who his parents were or how he came to be in that camp, but that really didn't matter to him, because he spent most of his dibbunhood bowing under a whip or the flat of some vermin's sword.

"They worked him and others to the bone, giving them little food and hardly any water. And sometimes they would even beat Koric and the other slaves for the fun of it. It drove him mad.

"It wasn't until one of our troops came in and freed them all that Koric was able to escape that life. I was there, leading the expedition. I still remember, seeing him lying there, in that cage, covered in wounds and barely clinging to life... to hope... and when a creature has had a life like his, its hard to open up and trust somebeast. Believe me, it took him a good long while before he would come with us; he thought we were just going to bring him to another slave compound.

"And even after we got him to the mountain, he barely spoke to any of us. I finally managed to get him to come around, though it was no easy task. And then finally he asked to join our ranks, though a lot hares around here were dubious in letting him have a weapon, though I figured we could train him not to go looking for blood to spill, how to give mercy when he needs to and whatnot. It seemed to take him longer to discipline himself so that he would not try to abuse his new-found freedom and skill. But he did, eventually, in a manner of speaking. He hasn't gone out seeking revenge on random creatures, and, though I can tell its still hard for him, he has shown mercy to captives and doesn't try to go after them when they've been released. Even though he obviously doesn't agree they deserve any fair treatment.

"Koric doesn't mean to be hateful towards you or your family, Petunia. He really doesn't. He just... has trouble believing that there are any real nice vermin in the world. So please... try to be patient with him. We can't all grow up with a ferret who loves us."

And with that, the brigadier turned and walked off towards the mountain, leaving Petunia standing on the twilight-bathed beach, slowly digesting this new piece of information about the one creature she thought had no right to hate ferrets.

* * *

**A/N:** Whooo! I'm back! Did you miss me? ;) XD Heh heh, anyway, here we have some new info on Petunia's life as a Long Patroller, and on Brigadier Crumworthy and Koric. And do any of you see a possible romance between Foghill and Petunia? Bwahahahahahahahaha!

Welp, hope you all enjoyed this, and I hope to have another update ASAP! God bless! :D


	13. The Accusation

**Chp 13**

As it sometimes does in the autumn, the weather became warmer and sunnier. Marek loved it. He hated cold weather, though he figured that there were few beasts who _did_ like it.

Today was a bit of a lazy day, at least for him anyway. He had spent much of yesterday out in Mossflower Woods, chopping down trees for extra firewood and watching over that badger-lady (what was her name? he had forgotten) and a group of dibbuns go berry-picking.

Normally Marek would've shied away from spending an overlong amount of time with the dibbuns, but Bluebell was going along with the group, and Marek rarely wasted any time in trying to woo her. Being around the dibbuns made the male mouse think that this would've heightened Bluebell's opinion of him after seeing how patiently he handled the little ones. Granted, Marek didn't like dibbuns, but he also didn't dislike them. Rather, he agreed that they were, as the abbey commonly said, "the future of Redwall". Dibbuns were useful and necessary because dibbuns didn't stay dibbuns forever; they grew up and became the abbey's next set of protectors. And that, Marek thought, made him a good candidate to be a father himself.

That was something he had hoped Bluebell would notice yesterday, but like most times, she ignored him and focused her attention on trying to make love happen between Dren and the new ferret, who had also come along on the berry-picking expedition. Marek personally thought that Bluebell was wasting her time; the new ferret, Primrose (such a pretty name), was much too good-looking to waste on somebeast like Dren. If it wasn't for Bluebell, Marek would've pursued Primrose for himself.

But no matter; Bluebell was the one who held his heart, and it was she who would become his future wife.

Marek sighed deeply and nestled himself on the large windowsill of his bedroom, enjoying the feel of the sun's warm rays against his fur. He had taken off his tunic in order for his belly to be fully covered in sunlight.

_Better enjoy it now before the wind turns cold..._

A faint splash and a bark of laughter caused the mouse to glance out the window towards the pond. There were several otters out there as always, only this time with the addition of a member of the traveling clown visitors. Primrose was down there, and looked to be applauding something that Skipper had done.

Marek snorted in derision and turned away.

He hated Skipper.

There were many beasts in Redwall Abbey that Marek either disliked or found slightly annoying, but none of them ever came close to the loathsome Skipper.

For as long as he could remember, Marek never liked otters. There was something about them that seemed so utterly distasteful and... _slimy. _Plus there was their obsession with hot spicy foods and their odd habits of paddling about in the water. Granted, they were useful when it came to battles, being good sling-throwers and recklessly brave, but in Marek's opinion, that was the only time that they should be allowed within Redwall. All the other times they should just remain in their holts so he wouldn't have to put up with them.

But Skipper... Skipper shouldn't even be in existance, the mouse thought. He loathed that creature, from his ugly face and grating laugh to that great big fat belly of his. He was disgusting and a disgrace, both as a chieftain and as a living creature.

And yet the creatures of Redwall _loved_ him, they _adored_ him, they practically worshipped the ground that he walked on! And it was _Marek_ that they should be doing those things to! And if that weren't bad enough, it was Skipper of all creatures who had been called upon by Martin's spirit during times of need! It was all too much to bear!

Well, no, not really, he could bear it all, at least for a little while longer: Martin had never called upon Skipper to take on the warrior's mighty sword. And that could only mean one thing; that the time would come when he, Marek, would be called upon to become the next abbey champion!

The male mouse smiled deeply and closed his eyes.

Abbey champion... ah, he wanted that title so much, he could taste it! Yes, his time would come. Soon, he would be the Champion of Redwall, and the lovely Bluebell would be by his side... he knew it was to be...

* * *

Primrose stood at the edge of the abbey pond, watching as a group of male otters showed off for her benefit.

"Look at me, miss Primrose! Look at this!"

"Don't pay any attention to that old fraud, miss! Check this out!"

"Hah! The old windbag could performed a backflip in water even if his life depended on it!"

"Aye, watch me make a dive, miss Primrose!"

The ferretmaid laughed and clapped; she knew she probably shouldn't be enjoying this so much, but right now, who cared? However, as much as she enjoyed the young male otters showing off for her attention, she still couldn't keep her eyes off of Skipper.

The older male otter had easily performed some of the best aquatic feats out of the group, only he'd done them before he realized that the ferretmaid was watching. After Primrose cheered for the otter chieftain, the other otters bounded forward, trying to outdo their leader as they eagerly called out to her.

As for Skipper, however, the older otter was caught off guard by the ferretmaiden's sudden appearance and opted to bob up and down in the water while his crew performed several feats. He still remembered the dream he had of Martin telling him that Primrose was on Redwall's side and therefore a friend to the abbey, but the otter chieftain still felt a little awkward in her presence... though a part of him wondered if it didn't have anything to do with her species... and more with how pretty she was...

* * *

Pansy in the meanwhile was shooting up and down several trees in the orchard, joyfully picking ripe pieces of fruit and dropping them into the baskets below. It felt wonderful to be harvesting again, even though the squirrelmaid knew she would never be a farmer. Still, it was a part of her childhood, and childhood things did tend to be rather comforting.

"I say, miss Pansy, you're the best harvester the abbey's ever seen!" somebeast called up to her.

"Don't 'miss' me, mister! The name's just 'Pansy', thank you!" And with that, the squirrel jumped back down to the ground to face another squirrel, only this one was male, orange-furred, and plump, with shy brown eyes.

"Oh, sorry mis- er, Pansy."

Pansy smirked; true, she had been called "miss" before, but right now she decided she didn't like it. Especially not from males her own age. "What's your name again?" she asked in a businesslike manner.

The male squirrel looked flushed and flustered, and answered with a slight stutter, "M-my name's P-Peter."

"P-Peter?" Pansy repeated, imitating his stutter.

"N-no, just P-Peter. Ugh, no, I mean, P-Peter - NO! I mean-"

"Yes, yes, I get it! I get it!" Pansy laughed, holding up her paws. "Look, you seem a strong, sturdy type. See these baskets right here? They're all full, so take them inside and hurry back with some more, got it?"

"Oh, yes, yes, mis- er, Pansy, I'll be happy to help!" Peter stammered as he did as he was bidden.

"And don't be all day about it either!" the squirrelmaid called after him in a pleasant tone.

Vanna and her lover, Acorn, were standing nearby, also helping with the harvest. Vanna smiled and remarked quietly to Acorn, "I think somebeast has a crush..."

Acorn, who was also a rather plump, shy male, smiled adoringly at his Vanna and said, "You were always so perceptive about such things, my dear."

"That's right, Acorn, dear. Now hold this basket while I drop more apples in."

"Yes, darling."

* * *

It still wasn't much time since the Roaming Whimsical Troupe had first arrived at the abbey, but even now they were well settled in and hoping that Ferdinand would have them remain all winter long.

"He hasn't said anything yet," Vanna told Primrose and Pansy one night, "but my guess is that we will stay throughout the winter. Better we perform for one group all season than freeze our paws off while traveling around in packs of snow."

As much as they knew they'd eventually have to leave, neither maid was really looking forward to leaving the beautiful red-stoned building. They wanted to see what it was like in middle of spring, and especially what it was like in the summer. Abbot Grove had told them that Redwall looked beautiful in every season, but Pansy argued that they wanted to all four seasonal versions of the abbey, and not just two.

But it wasn't just the troupe who was not looking forward to their departure. Many of the Redwallers had grown immensely fond of Merola, who had unofficially taken on the role of Abbey Badgermum. The old badger-lady was a great force of nature who made certain the dibbuns were kept safe and in control, and helped settle any dispute with her fearsome-yet-kindly nature.

Spike had taken to scuttling off to the cellars where he struck up a friendship with the cellarhog and took to experimenting with new ales. Rogak was popular with maidens and dibbuns alike, though for hugely different reasons. The clown-mice, Dancing Squirrels and Juggling Moles were also able to blend in and mingle with the crowd. As for Ferdinand, he and the abbot become good friends, though he did run the friar ragged with all of his "midnight snacks". Finally Rogak had to be called upon to help remedy the matter, much to Friar Gleesum's relief - and to Ferdinand's indignation.

Primrose enjoyed meeting all of the new and interesting creatures Redwall abbey had to offer. There was Abbot Grove, who was the sweetest, kindest old mouse she had ever known; Sister Garnet, who made such lovely beaded necklaces; Brother Ralph, a mouse who juggled and was taking lessons from the Juggling Moles; Rinko, the abbey bellringer; Ralg, a young harvest mouse who liked to bring her bunches of flowers; Sister Sayna, who created a sweet-smelling perfume of vanilla and shared it with Primrose; and many more.

Among the Redwallers, however, there was one who would make a much, much deeper impression on the ferretmaid...

* * *

"What's going on?" Pansy asked as she and Primrose entered Great Hall. It looked like the whole abbey had gathered there, and judging from the serious look on the abbot's face, bad news was afoot.

"Father Abbot called a meeting," Sister Sayna whispered, "though I've no idea what it could be about."

After everybeast was settled down and silent, Abbot Grove looked out at the sea of faces with somber eyes.

"My children," the old mouse started. "I'm afraid I have grave news to report. There is a thief inside these walls."

A ripple of anxious, surprised murmurings swept across the room, only to be stilled by the abbot's raised paws.

"Please, my friends. Let me explain.

"A few days ago, Sister Doraleen noticed that her favorite comb was missing. However, she did not think much of it until now, for she thought that it would eventually turn up. But now it seems that nearly everybeast has been 'misplacing' a few things. Brother Randall can no longer find the gold goblet that he won at last summer's concert. Brother Gordale cannot find his best pair of sandals. Sister Myrtle has no idea where her favorite silk kerchief is. There are more with missing items, but I shall not bore you with them.

"It can only stand to reason that somebeast has been taking these things, and I very much doubt that, if the beast responsible is in this room right now, they will step forward to claim their guilt."

In the pause that followed, several creatures glanced nervously or suspiciously from side-to-side, knowing that the thief could be standing right next to them.

"So instead," Abbot Grove went on, "I ask that all those who have missing items, please come forward one at a time, and tell us all when you remember last seeing your possession."

And so it began.

A good long line of abbeydwellers came forward, and one by one said when and where they last had their now-purloined possessions. It was then surmised that things only started to go missing a few days ago, no longer than a week. Most of the missing items had been left in their owners' rooms, all at different times of the day.

"Well this doesn't help much," Merola stated after the testimony was given. "We are no more sure of who the thief is than we were a few minutes ago, Father Abbot! Unless perhaps we search through everybeast's room..."

"Um..."

All eyes turned to Sister Serena, who had lost a necklace.

"Do you have something to say, my child?" Abbot Grove encouraged her.

"Aye, speak up," nodded Skipper, his arms folded across his broad chest.

The sister seemed to struggle with herself for a moment before saying, "Actually, I do recall that... I didn't think much of it before, because... it didn't seem at all suspicious at the time..."

"What are you trying to say?" Marek impatiently inquired.

"That... that... I saw... I saw somebeast come out of Sister Myrtle's room around the time she says her kerchief was stolen."

The room became silent.

"And... who did you see?" Abbot Grove quietly asked.

More silence.

"...Primrose."

Dead silence.


	14. The Confession

**Chp 14**

The creatures of Redwall Abbey liked to look at Primrose. But this was nothing new, as the creatures of Noonvale, the Troupe, and countless others liked to look at her.

Cellarhog had once compared the ferretmaid's eyes to a pair of goblets filled with the finest nutbrown ale there was. Friar Gleesum said at one time that her fur reminded him of the topping of a woodland summercream pudding. Brother Samuel, the head gardener, compared her body to a willow being blown by a soft spring breeze. Abbot Grove even put in his own description, that she was as beautiful as the late rose bush in full bloom.

Yes, the beasts of Redwall Abbey did indeed like to look at Primrose.

Now, however, they were all looking at her for completely different reasons.

Within the space of one mere second, she was now the prime suspect in a series of mysterious burglaries, simply because one abbeydweller had seen her in the area during the time one of the missing items was stolen.

The first to break the silence was Pansy.

"What?" the squirrelmaid shouted, standing forward. "Wha- that's ridiculous! Primrose would never steal! My sister is no thief! What are you trying to pull, Sister?"

Sister Serena looked indignant and defiant. "I'm not trying to pull anything! I'm just-"

"You're just trying to lay the blame on some poor innocent creature so you can get away with stealing all those things!"

"Pansy!" barked Merola.

"Are you accusing _me_ of being the thief?" demanded Sister Serena, firing up.

"You betcha I am!" Pansy shouted, her red fur becoming even redder.

"Pansy!" shouted Merola. "You've no right to accuse the Sister without any proof-"

"Proof? The mere fact that's she's labled my sister as a no good thief is proof! She's just trying to-"

"That's enough!" Abbot Grove cried over the din. "Come now, Pansy, Sister Serena has not actually accused Primrose of doing anything. She merely stated that Primrose was in the vicinity at the time-"

"She said that the ferret came out of the room before Sister Myrtle's kerchief was stolen," spoke up Grikkle, a rather ill-tempered old vole. "That's accusation enough for me!"

"Well it isn't for me, old one!" Pansy shouted. "And keep your remarks in your head if you can't be civil!"

"Civil? I could show you what civil means, you little wre-"

"You want to finish that sentence?" Rogak said, stepping closer towards the old gray vole.

"Here now, stop this!" Abbot Grove yelled. "I'll have no threatening or insults hurled in this abbey! We are to live in peace with one another!"

"Well we certainly can't when so many beasts around here are accusing innocents of being a no good robber!" Pansy shouted.

"Pansy, hush! All this shouting won't help!" barked Merola, whose voice was also rather loud at the moment.

"Huh, awful little savage," Grikkle muttered audibly.

"Grikkle!" the abbot reprimanded.

"Well maybe Grikkle's got the right idea!" put in Oakwen, a tall male squirrel. "Maybe," he turned to Pansy, "somebeasts around here shouldn't be so quick to defend creatures that-"

"Hey!" Vanna interrupted. "You accuse one of us, you accuse us all!"

"That's right!" nodded Spike. "If'n you say that our Primrose is a thief, then you're saying we're all thieves!"

"Well maybe I am!" Oakwen said recklessly.

Rogak cracked his knuckles dangerously.

"Well now this is a sight I never thought I'd behold!" shouted Ferdinand, stepping forward. "To think, you Redwallers are supposed to be kind, just creatures, and-"

"This hasn't happened to us for who knows how long!" objected one of the Sisters. "We barely know how to act in a situation like this-"

"Madam, that is no excuse!"

"-and the only ones who're suspects are ourselves and you! Any of us could be the thief! And nobeast around here wants to be pointing an accusing claw at their friend!"

"So you all just settle for pointing an accusing claw at my family!" Pansy shrieked.

_BAM!_

A startled scream rippled through the crowds of angry animals, and all eyes turned to Skipper, who had whacked his tail on the floor.

"As much as fun as it all is listening to you all scream at each other like seagulls," the otter chieftain said softly, "I suggest that we make things a little bit simpler by hearing a word or two from miss Primrose about all this."

Abbot Grove swiftly agreed. "Yes, indeed, that is always fair and sensible. Now then, tell us, Primrose, what were you doing in Sister Myrtle's room during the time her kerchief was stolen?"

"Go on, tell 'em, Prim!" Pansy said, smiling confidently up at her sister. "Tell them you're innocent and its all just a pack of compost!"

But Primrose did not speak.

"...Primrose?"

This time, Pansy did not sound so confident.

"Primrose?"

The ferretmaid would not look up, her paws folded nervously in front of her skirt.

"Prim, c'mon! You're no thief!"

"_I_don't hear her saying anything to the contrary," Grikkle snapped.

"SHUT UP YOU STUPID VOLE!"

Only this time, it was Merola who shouted, much to everybeast's shock.

The badgermum took her favorite charge by the shoulders and spoke roughly, "Primrose, you have just been accused of stealing something, now come out and say it! Did you steal that kerchief, yes or no? Come on, you have a working tongue, you're not a mute! Out with it!"

But still Primrose would not speak.

Water began to form at the corners of Pansy's eyes. "Prim... you can't be..."

Oakwen the squirrel smirked. Grikkle gave a horribly triumphant laugh. "Hah! Well what do you know, I was-"

_BAM!_

"AUGH! Skipper, don't do that, my heart isn't what it used to-"

The otter's voice drowned out the protesting vole's. "Father Abbot, if you'll permit me, I'd like to talk to Primrose myself. Maybe in a room where nobeast can interfere?"

"I should say not!" Pansy cried. "How do we know you won't-"

"I give my word as an otter, as a Skipper, and as a Redwaller that I won't harm her in anyway, Pansy-"

"Hah! What good's the word of a Redwaller these days-"

"Merola, if you will consent...?"

"Don't do it, Merola! He'll just be... be... mean to her! He might hit her! She didn't do anything, I know she didn't! Primrose, you..." But the poor squirrelmaid couldn't think of anything else to say.

Merola, whose eyes looked rather red (whether it was from anger or from tears it was hard to say), nodded her consent, however, and nudged the ferretmaid toward the otter chieftain. "Go with Skipper, Primrose."

The whole room was dead silent once again save for the sound of Primrose's footsteps as she headed in Skipper's direction.

* * *

"You're not the thief."

Primrose blinked up at the otter. They were now in a small storeroom with no windows and only one door, which was wide open to allow light in.

"I know you're not the thief, I can tell," Skipper Torren nodded, his dark eyes gazing shrewdly at the ferretmaid, who was seated on a small stool.

Finally Primrose's tongue began to work. "W-what?"

"I could tell by that look on your face back in Great Hall. Oh sure, it was a guilty look, but not the same kind of guilty as a remorseful thief. No, it was more like the kind of guilty of... somebeast who knows something."

The ferretmaid blinked again. Silence reigned for a moment as both creatures locked gazes.

Then Skipper leaned forward, his piercing dark eyes burning into hers'. "Who's the real thief, Primrose?"

Primrose blinked a third time, but then sat back a bit and crossed her legs. "So you think you can guess all that by what you thought was the expression on my face?"

"That, among other things," nodded Skipper. "Such as the fact that if you were a thief, your troupe would most likely be thieves as well, and would have left the abbey by now before anybeast was the wiser.

"Plus you're not the stealing type. No, you've got plenty of trinkets of your own already, I've seen all those costumes you wear when you lot put on shows and whatnot.

"And not only that, but even I can tell you've had too good an upbringing to delve into any of that stuff. You're not a thief, Primrose, and I doubt you ever will be.

"But then I've got to wonder, why aren't you defending yourself? Why aren't you coming out and saying that you're innocent? Why are you letting all this rage and confusion increase around you?

"It would only stand to reason that you know who the thief is, Primrose. You know who they are, and you're relunctant to turn them in."

In spite of everything, Primrose was impressed. She supposed it took brains to be a chieftain, but she had never figured Skipper to be much of a thinker. Otters always seemed to be the creatures who took action, who would rather fight first and ask questions later.

"Who's the real thief, Primrose? Are you going to tell me?"

The ferretmaid hesitated. She considered the otter before her, his muscular arms folded across his broad chest. Torren was in some ways a typical otter, lithe and brawny, but he was also very unlike the majority of otters Primrose had come across. He wasn't as tall as Rogak and some of his crew, and the area around his waist wasn't nearly as flat as it would've been when he was younger - although he actually didn't seem that old. He must be in his late twenties, and despite the haggard look about his features, he was actually a handsome creature.

Could she... could she trust him? Confide in him? Would he understand her plight?

For a moment it seemed like she couldn't... but then there was a certain... light... a certain... something... in his eyes that suddenly made revealing the truth to him the most obvious thing in the world.

"I... I know who the thief is."

"...And? Who is it?"

"Do you promise not to tell?"

"You know I can't promise you that, its my job right now to find out who the thief is."

Primrose sighed. "Well then, I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Oh, if only you knew."

"Look, stop being so melodramatic. I know you acting types like to be all dramatic and stuff, but come on, this is serious! If you don't come out and say who the real thief is, then you'll be labled a thief yourself and be forced to leave the abbey - but not before you'd have to return as the things that were stolen, and we both know you have no idea where those are... or do you?"

"...Skip, please. You can't tell anybeast."

"I just said-"

"Please let me explain first before you say anything."

"Alright, I'm listening."

"Its a long story, though."

The otter sighed and headed out the door. Primrose was taken aback by this sudden act and wondered if she should leave too, but Skipper soon came back in with a lantern and some tinder and flint. After lighting the candle inside the lantern, the otter chieftain shut the door behind him and sat down on the floor.

"There. Now I'm listening."


	15. The Quest

**Chp 15**

On the day that Merola had taken the dibbuns out for berry-picking, Primrose and a group of others had gone with. The berries they were out harvesting, blackberries to be precise, were late, and the abbeybeasts wanted to get as many of them as possible before the frost came.

Pansy was there too, and was wasting no time is scuttling up trees and shaking the branches overhead so that the golden leaves would shower those below. The dibbuns squealed with glee while Merola barked threats of spankings once they reached the abbey.

Bluebell was there as well, and, like always, was trying to make things happen between Primrose and Dren, who had been dragged along with a sour look on his face.

"If you don't like Dren," Pansy asked her sister in an undertone when they managed to step away from the crowd a bit, "then why don't you tell Bluebell to stop trying to get the two of you together?"

"Don't you think I've thought of that?" Primrose said, carefully plucking blackberries from their thorny vines.

"Then why haven't you? What's the hold-up?"

"...I actually am kind've interested in Dren again."

Pansy blinked. "You mean you like him again?"

"I do _not _like him," Primrose snapped. "I just recently discovered something about Dren that made me curious and want to learn more about it."

"And what was that? If his muscles are as big as they look or if its all just fur-?"

"_No,_" the ferretmaid hissed. "He told me once that he once lived in a horde."

The squirrelmaid's eyes widened. "Whoa, really?"

"Yes, and suffice it to say, my interest is piqued, and I wouldn't mind getting a little bit close to him so I can learn more about it."

Pansy scratched her head. "I can understand Petunia wanting to know that kind of stuff, even I would like to hear a few grisly tales, but I never figured _you_ for the type who'd be wantin' to know about the life of a horde member."

"What? You think the only thing I think about are flowers and pretty jewelry and acting?"

"_No. _I also think you think about good-looking males flexing their muscles whenever they see you coming-eeee!"

The squirrelmaid took off as her sister lunged at her. Pansy scuttled up the nearest tree and Primrose lost sight of her in the boughs.

"No nonsense there, you two!" Merola called from her flock of dibbuns.

"Yes, gotta set a good example for little ones, eh?" said Marek, who had also come along on this little expedition.

Primrose smiled at the mouse. He was so incredibly handsome, he was. Marek was one of those beasts who seemed to grow more striking with every glance you gave them. Tall, broad-shouldered, muscular and smooth dark brown fur, he cut a remarkable figure.

The ferretmaid had seen quite a few females blush and giggle in his presence, and she could not blame them (not much, anyway). Marek also had a surprisingly small waist, a feature that always drew Primrose's gaze. She hoped that Bluebell would overcome her shyness and get together with Marek, they looked like they would make such a cute couple; Bluebell was also one of those types who became more beautiful every time you saw them. Her eyes were such an ethereal blue...

_If they had children,_ Primrose thought, _they should get their mother's eyes, their father's fur, and depending what gender they were, their parents' perfect builds. _

She didn't have much time to fantasize about the romance that she thought was happening, for a sudden addition of new voices entered her ears.

Primrose looked around, but didn't see anybeast. Nothing but forest... and yet there was no denying that there were voices in the distance.

The ferretmaid glanced back at the group; they were further away and so therefore wouldn't have heard it. She wondered for a moment about investigating by herself. Of course Primrose knew that it was very foolish to wander away from a large group on your own in an unknown area, but it couldn't be attackers; they would've made certain to make no noise as they crept up.

And so, throwing caution to the wind (and promising herself she'd run straight back if things didn't seem right), the ferretmaid struck out, careful not to be seen or heard by her friends or by the strangers.

She actually didn't have to walk very far before she peered around a tree and found out who the voices belonged to; two young otters, a male and a female, approximately around Primrose's age.

The female she recognized; it was Spring, a nice-looking maid with a quiet disposition who lived at the abbey. That was all Primrose knew about her, for the two of them had barely spoken to each other, although they did pass one another quite a few times in the halls.

As for the male, Primrose had never seen him before, nor did he look like the type who would ever really visit an abbey. His long limbs and torso were covered in bright blue, intricate tattoos, with golden earrings and a bright red bandanna tied around his head. He wore only a short barkcloth kilt held up by a belt with several pouches on them.

Primrose supposed that in his own wild sort of way, he was rather handsome. Though there was no denying that his smile was just a bit too oily for her tastes.

"I like this," the male otter was saying, holding up a seashell necklace. "This'll get me a pretty penny."

"How much more do you need?" Spring inquired, her paws folded anxiously in front of her. "I've already stolen quite a lot already."

Primrose blinked. _Stolen?_

The male otter's smile became even more oily. "Just a bit more, love. Trust me, we're almost there. As soon as I pay off these debts and we have enough saved up, we can go away together and never have to come back. It'll be wonderful, I promise."

His face inched closer towards Springs', and Primrose turned away, not wanting to see the upcoming kiss.

After awhile, she heard the male voice's, "I've got to go now. I'll see you later" and then a receding set of footsteps.

Primrose was in quite a shock, naturally, and hardly knew what to think, say or do, but like many heroines before her in such a situation, she managed to take this time to step on a conveniently nearby twig, snapping it half.

_Drat!_

"Who's there?"

The ferretmaid considered running for it, but Spring had already come around the tree, locking gazes with Primrose.

After the inevitable moment of shocked silence, the ottermaid murmured, "How much did you hear?"

"...You've been stealing from the abbey? How could you do that?"

Spring let out a sigh, her head dropping as her paws rose. "Please, don't tell anybeast, please? They wouldn't understand..."

"Understand what?" Primrose hissed. "How you can just steal stuff from your own abbey members and give it away to some... who was that otter?"

Spring looked at the ferret with a sad smile. "The love of my life, that's who."

Primrose blinked.

"Yes, I know," the ottermaid said. "You think I'm a fool, don't you? I have no family, I belong to no holt, the abbey is the only home I've got. ...But I've never felt like this before... I've never felt so deeply connected to somebeast before in my life. He makes me feel so... special..."

As much as she hated to admit it, Primrose knew exactly what Spring was talking about.

"I know that stealing like this is wrong, but you must understand, he has to pay off some payments he owes towards some beasts that live in the towns."

"What kind of payments?"

"Oh... there was an incident where he stole something when he was younger. He never had a proper upbringing and developed quite a reputation for himself. That's why he's not allowed inside Redwall. But he's trying to turn himself around, he really is. I've been able to help him with that. He's really a wonderful creature. He says and does some of the most sweetest, kindest things I've ever seen or heard. And..."

Spring trailed off, looking back at Primrose with eyes that slowly began to water. "You're not going to tell, are you? Please, Primrose, I know its wrong and that its silly, what I'm doing, but... what else can I do? I love him!"

* * *

And so Primrose kept her silence. Nobeast ever knew she had slipped away and had a "chat" with Spring on that day. Merola had been too busy with the dibbuns, Pansy was either playing with the little ones or jumping up into trees, Marek had his attention focused on Bluebell, who was helping with the dibbuns, and Dren barely looked up from berry-picking.

The ferretmaid wasn't sure why she agreed not to say anything as the creatures around her had their things stolen from them. They surely deserved better, especially since they had been so kind to her and the troupe...

...but every time she thought about going to Merola or to the abbot, the memory of Spring's pleading, crying eyes would come flooding back into her mind, and the ferret wouldn't be able to do it.

Maybe it was because Primrose knew what it was like, being in love. Or at least infatuated. That was definately one area that she was well learned in. Once she had thrown herself at Rogak in front of a stunned audience, but thanks to some quick thinking they managed to make it look like it was all part of the act.

Then there was Dakar. Definately Primrose's biggest mistake; she blushed with shame every time she thought about it. And she would always be thankful that Lily had forgiven her for it, and had ended up marrying Dakar anyway.

So maybe that was why Primrose couldn't bring herself to say anything. She knew what it was like being in love... with the wrong beast.

* * *

But now, after a few minutes alone with a surprisingly shrewd Skipper, Primrose found herself unloading everything to him.

"You said that the male had blue tattoos?" the otter chieftain asked.

"Yes. And earrings and a bandanna."

"Duckweed."

"Who?"

"Duckweed. A rogue otter. Used to be apart of my crew, but he just couldn't get out of the habit of stealin' things. Had him banned from the abbey and from the holt seasons ago."

"He... oh. Oh."

Skipper nodded grimly. "Yes, 'oh'. If I know Duckweed, he hasn't told Spring one word of truth."

"And he's been... just using her?"

"'Fraid so, by the looks of it."

The otter chieftain then turned on his heel and walked towards the door.

Primrose stood up. "What are you going to do?"

"Let's just I have a hunch about something." He paused in the doorway. "Do you want to come out or stay in here for the time being? I don't think you'd have to wait too long, if my hunch is right. I mean, you're still the prime suspect."

The ferret's brow furrowed. "But I just told you-!"

"But you asked me not to tell anybeast. So that means in their eyes you're still the prime suspect."

Primrose thought, and said, "I'll wait here."

* * *

Things were very tense up in Great Hall.

Except for Merola, Vanna, Acorn, and a few Brothers and Sisters who took the dibbuns outside to play, nobeast had moved from the room.

Pansy was seated on one of the chests where the Troupe had set up their stage. Surrounding her were the rest of her troupe members: Spike, who couldn't stop fiddling with his quill; Rogak, whose tail was beating against the floor; the Juggling Moles, few of whom were absent-mindedly tossing balls to one another; the clown mice, all with glum, anxious expressions on their normally cheerful faces; the Dancing Squirrels, who were either sitting or leaning against various props; and Ferdinand, who kept pacing back and forth, back and forth.

The Redwallers were no less agitated. Many of them tried to look busy, tidying up or polishing something. Grikkle the vole was seated with Oakwen, both with bored, sulky looks on their faces. Dren also was looking sulky, though not as much as usual. In spite of himself, the male ferret was actually feeling curious about who the real thief was - and he was also surprised nobeast had accused him of being the thief. Then again, Primrose's suspicious actions already took away a lot of the heat.

Bluebell at first stood next to Dren, but a feeling of restlessness overcame her and she began walking from corner to corner, trying to see if there was anything for her to do. Suddenly a muscular arm coiled itself around her waist, another muscular arm wrapping itself across her chest.

"It's alright," Marek's voice sounded in her ear, "I'm sure the real thief will be caught soon. You have nothing to worry about." He kissed her cheek lightly before snuggling his nose into her neckfur.

* * *

After what seemed like an eternity, Skipper Torren came back up from the cellar. All eyes went straight to the otter, even before he began issuing orders.

"Father Abbot, if you'll permit me, I have somewhere that I need to be right now. Its very urgent and it cannot wait."

"Now hold on a minute!" said Marek, marching over as he released Bluebell from his hold. "What's this urgent mission of yours' that's more important than what's going on in our abbey?"

"My urgent mission has everything to do with what is happening in our abbey, Marek," the otter chieftain replied patiently. He turned to his crew, "Line up along the walls and wait there for my return. I hope to be back-"

"I'm going to," Marek interrupted. "I'd like to see just what you're up to! There's too many secrets around here."

"I agree!" old Grikkle said, waving his cane. "What're you on about, Skipper? Why're you leaving the abbey?"

"I'm afraid I can't say, but I have a hunch."

"Is that all you're going to say?" Marek demanded.

"We're wasting time," said Skipper. "If you want to come, Marek, then come. I won't try to stop you."

"Then I'm going as well," said Rogak, stepping forward.

Skipper nodded. "Alright fine, you may as well. But no more!" he added quickly. "Small groups travel faster, and speed is of the essence!"

"Skipper, are you sure you can't tell us what-"

"I have a hunch, Father Abbot. That's all I can say."

"What about my sister?" Pansy cried.

"She's down in one of the storerooms, you can go and see her if you-"

But Pansy gone in a shot.

* * *

Skipper, Rogak, and Marek all strode out across the abbey lawns, Skipper armed with a sling and a long coil of rope slung over his shoulder while Marek carried a staff. Rogak relied only on his fists and rudder.

The otters lined the walltops, and several Redwallers and the Roaming Whimsical Troupe watched the departure from the abbey'd door. Skipper saw out of the tail of his eye the group that was watching over the dibbuns; Spring the ottermaid was with them.

"So where are we going?" Marek asked as the three malebeasts headed out the main gates and out onto the wide dirt road.

"A certain tavern."

"A tavern? What're we going _there_ for?"

"I got a hunch."

"Oh, and just what hunch is that, Skipper Bigbelly?"

The otter chieftain shot the mouse a look before saying, "I know we're all a little wound up right now, so I'll let that one slide."

* * *

Within an hour's walk, Skipper, Rogak and Marek arrived at what could only be the tavern Skipper had in mind. A number of vermin were gathered outside it, gambling or huddled in muttering groups.

The three woodlanders' appearance received special interest from the crowds. Some of the vermin looked wary, while others looked fiendishly delighted.

"Weeeell, fellas, lookit wot's headed our way!"

"Arr, three gennelbeasts, eh? Ain't they pretty?"

"Excuse me," a vixen purred as she leered at Rogak. "Would you care for something to put a smile on that handsome face of yours'?"

Rogak wrinkled his brow at her and replied, "No."

The vixen's friends snickered and elbowed her as the three woodlanders walked into the tavern ("Like yew even had a chance!").

Rogak squinted his eyes upon entering the building. Borish laughter and clouds of smoke filled the room. The otter could barely make out the rats, stoats, and foxes sitting at tables as they downed tankards of ale or threw knives at an empty space in the wall. Some of them even had a few pipes lit, and they gazed shrewdly at the three newcomers.

At one of the tables sat a group of creatures that was different than the others; this table had an otter sitting at it. One with blue tattoos and a red bandanna. A rather good-looking vixen, wearing a seashell necklace, was perched on his lap.

The group looked to be peering at an assortment of trinkets, such as sandals, kerchiefs, necklaces, combs, and various other objects.

"All stolen from the abbey itself," the otter boasted.

"Hell's teeth! 'Ow do yew do it, mate?" a weasel with brown teeth grinned.

"Oh, I have my ways," the otter said smugly, taking a draft of beer.

"Duckweed, darlin'," the vixen cooed, trailing a claw along the otter's jaw. "Won't you just give us a little hint?"

"Sorry, no can do, me pretty," the otter, Duckweed, replied, grinning up at her.

"Yer heartless," the vixen said, getting up and waving a dismissive paw.

"Oy, mates," said a rat with an eyepatch, gesturing at the newcomers.

Duckweed turned around, a relaxed, cocky smile on his face-

KWA-_BAM!_

-and found his dazed head resting on the table amongst the stolen goods.

The surrounding vermin leapt to their feet. Rogak and Marek readied themselves for a fight, only the vermin didn't move in, but rather scurried away as far as they could.

As for Skipper, he seized Duckweed by the scruff of his neck and hoisted him out of his chair.

"Aarrggg, let me go, you crazy-!"

Skipper slammed the other otter down onto the floor, uncoiling the rope from his shoulder and tying Duckweed up.

Rogak leapt into action, shouting, "Nobeast move! We're from Redwall and we're here to take back our stuff! You don't wanna get brained, stay put!"

The vermin remained seated. Most were wide-eyed, though some were passed out from too much ale.

"Where's there a sack for us to carry this all in?" Marek demanded, gesturing at the stolen items.

One of the vermin, a rat with several earrings, pointed at a sack under the table. Marek passed his staff to Rogak and began gathering up the items while Skipper finished tying up Duckweed.

"Augh, hell gates, mate-" the tattooed otter whined before his scruff was once again seized by Skipper.

"I'm not your mate, thief. Now you're comin' with us, so get to your feet. C'mon!"

Duckweed's ankles and rudder had been tied so that he couldn't run or attack with his tail, but he could walk, albeit awkwardly.

"Hey, that necklace belongs to somebeast at Redwall Abbey," Marek said to the vixen, who made no argument about giving it up. She seemed more disheartened by the sight of Duckweed, who had previously been gloating of his conquests of thievery to his mates, and was now stumbling towards the tavern's door.

Every eye was on the tattooed otter as he made his unglorious way out. There were even more stares once they reached outside, and even a few snide remarks and jeers. The four creatures had to walk pretty far before the verminous laughter faded away into the distance.

Duckweed's face was beet-red beneath his fur, both from humiliation and rage. Skipper strode just behind him, his face grim and foreboding. Marek had passed the sackful of goods to Rogak; both walked slightly behind Skipper.

"Think you're pretty clever, eh?" Skipper said. "Tricking an innocent maid into doing your dirty work for you? Shame on ye, Duckweed. You almost make me feel ashamed to call myself an otter!"

Marek personally thought Skipper could have left out 'almost'.

"Just give me a minute and I'll think of a suitable punishment for you."

"You can't punish me!" Duckweed said at last. "You're not my leader anymore, and we're not at the abbey-"

"No, but what you did involves the abbey, an' its my job to protect it! And punish those who try to harm it!"

The younger otter fell silent again, but after awhile he grumbled aloud, "Damn Spring, couldn't even-"

_WHACK!_

Skipper struck the back of Duckweed's skull.

_WHACK!_

Rogak did the same.

_THUD!_

Marek brought his staff straight into the tattooed otter's midriff, bringing him to his knees. It felt good hitting an otter.

Skipper stood over Duckweed, his chest heaving with anger.

"Easy there, mate," Rogak cautioned; he was angry himself, but still didn't want anything seriously violent to happen.

Skipper, after much shaking and breathing, managed to calm himself and said, "I think that's enough, because I can't stand being around you much longer. Don't you ever pull a stunt like this again, do you hear me?"

Duckweed remained huddled up on the ground, trying to regain his breath.

The otter chieftain snorted. "I'll take that as a yes. C'mon, mates."

And with that, Skipper stepped over Duckweed and headed down the path, followed by Rogak. Marek, however, landed a light kick on the tattooed otter's rump when his companions weren't looking before taking off after them.

* * *

The evening sky was a deep red when Skipper, Rogak and Marek returned to Redwall Abbey with the stolen possesions in tow. The items were returned to each of their respective owners, and apologies were passed around between abbeydweller and Troupe member.

"Did you really fight loads and loads o' vermin, mista Rogak?" a curious mousebabe asked.

The handsome otter grinned, loading his arms up with dibbuns. "Oho, mates, do I have a story for you."

"Back safe and sound," Marek said to Bluebell, expecting her to throw herself into his arms and praise him for being the hero that he was.

He was sorely disappointed when she didn't.

"I'm so glad everybeast has their things back and that it wasn't Primrose who took them," the pretty mousemaid said. "I wonder though, who _was_ the thief, anyway?"

"Oh, Skip explained that to us on our way back," Marek said as he encircled his arm around Bluebell's waist. "Come along to the orchard and I'll tell you the whole story."

He led her off before she had a chance to object. Dren watched the two mice leave, his eyes narrowing.

* * *

Vanna burst into the storeroom where Primrose, Pansy and Merola were sitting.

"The thief's been caught! The real thief's been caught!"

Primrose's jaw dropped. But Pansy squealed with delighted relievement and hugged her sister while Merola barked with joy.

"Ooh, I knew you weren't the thief, Prim, I just knew you were!"

"Who was it? Who was the thief, Vanna?" Merola wanted to know.

"Wouldn't you know, it was that ottermaid, Spring. Now-"

But Vanna got no further as Primrose pushed past her and out the door.

The ferretmaid arrived at Cavern Hole just after Abbot Grove finished saying something to Spring, who stood before him.

Primrose saw Spring's eyes, wide and full of shock, disbelief, and tears.

The otter's paws then flew to her eyes as she ran out up the stairs towards Great Hall, wailing like a dying beast.

"What-? What did you say to her?" cried the ferretmaid, hurrying over towards the abbot.

Skipper was also in the room, his expression grim. "He just told Spring that she's got to leave the abbey."

Primrose stared at the otter before turning to the abbot.

"I am sorry, my child, but given the circumstances-"

Primrose didn't wait to hear another word. She went after Spring.

Just as Primrose reached the Great Hall, at first she thought it was empty.

Then she saw the ottermaid stepping down from a stepladder next to the tapestry, holding the sword of Martin the Warrior.

Spring took the hilt in one paw and the blade in the other, and brought it to her neck.

_"Spring, NO!"_

The ferretmaid tackled the otter, taking a hold of both paws and pushing the blade down. Spring struggled wildly, screaming shrilly, "Let me go! Let me go, you stupid fool!"

Primrose held on doggedly, trying to wrest the sword from the other maid. "Spring, don't! STOP!"

The otter flailed about, kicking backwards at the ferret. "Let me go! Let me die, LET ME DIE, I HAVE NOTHING TO LIVE FOR!"

Several startled animals came hurrying into the Great Hall just as the bloodied sword fell from Spring's paw.

* * *

Primrose sat huddled on the floor, clinging to Spring's limp body, unaware that a crowd had gathered around them.

"...Why did you stop me?"

Spring spoke with a small voice.

"I know how it feels..."

"No you don't! You probably think I got what I deserved, after I tried to pin the blame on you."

Primrose placed her paw over the ottermaid's bleeding one; Spring had held onto the blade so hard she cut herself.

"I know what its like to be... in love with the wrong one."

Spring gave a shuddering sob. "Duckweed... he... he was with another female... Skipper told me... he never cared about me... he was just using me..."

Primrose finally looked up to see with some surprise the gathering of beasts around them. Several of them looked teary-eyed, even Grikkle the vole. The rest looked sad... save for Dren. However, he had lost his surly expression. His face was now strangely blank.

The ferret's eyes finally landed on Abbot Grove.

"Father Abbot," Primrose began. "I... I... could you... could you please let Spring stay here?"

Grove blinked, and she thought his eyes looked a little red.

"I think that she should be allowed to stay here," the ferret went on, her paws beginning to tremble. "I mean, she has no family, no holt, this is the only she's got. I mean, yes, she did steal, but... couldn't you..." She turned to the other abbeybeasts. "Couldn't you all just forgive her?"

A moment of silence passed.

Then Skipper Torren stepped forward. "If Primrose, who is without a doubt the one that Spring has offended the most, can forgive her... then I see no reason why I can't either."

The ferretmaid smiled up at Skipper, who in this moment never looked so beautiful.

"Aye," said a voice.

All eyes turned with great surprise to Grikkle the vole, who hobbled forward and said, "Aye, I could forgive her."

"So could I!" said Vanna loudly.

Pansy nodded. "And I. I mean, if Grikkle can..."

A ripple of laughter coursed through the crowds, releasing some of the tension.

Sister Serena also came forward and kneeled down next to Spring. "Yes, I can forgive you too."

The other Brothers and Sisters who had things stolen from them also nodded, smiling at the ottermaid.

"Well, Father Abbot?" Merola said. "It seems like everybeast is willing to give Spring a second chance. We're waiting on your word."

Abbot Grove smiled. "I believe its already been spoken." Then, after a moment, he hastily added, "Er, I wasn't talking about when I said she had to leave, I meant-"

"We know what you meant," Merola said.

Another, bigger round of laughter erupted, and soon everybeast was crowding around Spring, hugging her and wishing her a welcome back. Spring never cried so much in her entire life.

* * *

**A/N:** I should probably admit, I was inspired to do this storyline by another series, but I think I managed to make it different enough, I hope.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this, and God bless. :)


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